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33  WEST  MAIN  'iTREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(71)  872-4503 


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THE   WOUND   DRESSER 


•*.  -   . 


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•^  y^cut^_  ^ 


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^'-♦^    /i^a.^ 


«==- 


THE  HELIOTYPE  PRINTING  CO.  BOSTON 


From  a  Photograph  hy  Gardner,  Washington 


THE 

WOUND   DRESSER 

A  Series  of  Letters 

Written  from  the  Hospitals  in  Washington 

During  the  War  of  the  RebelHon 

By 

WALT    WHITMAN 

Edited  by 
Richard  Maurice  Bucke,  M.D. 

One  of  Whitman's  Literary  Executors 


Boston 
SMALL,  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY 

1898 


■VVtMMR 


Copyright,  i8gy,  by  Small,  Maynard  ^  Company 


ny 


But  in  silence,,  in  dreams*  projections,, 

lyhile  the  world  of  gain  and  appearance  and  mirth  goes  on,. 

So  soon  what  is  over  forgotten,,  und  waves  wash  the  imprints 

off  the  sand,, 
frith  hinged  knees  returning  I  enter  the  doors,  (tvhile  for  you 

up  there,, 
Whoever  you   are,,  follow   without   noise    and  be   of  strong 

heart,) 

I  onward  go y  I  stop,, 

IVith  hinged  knees  and  steady  hand  to  dress  wounds,, 

I  am  firm  with  each,,  the  pangs  are  sharp  yet  unavoidable. 

One  turns  to  me  his  appealing  eyes — poor  boy!  I  never 

knew  you, 
Tet  I  think  I  could  not  refuse  this  moment  to  die  for  you,  if 

that  would  save  you. 

I  am  faithful,  I  do  not  give  out. 

The  fractur* d  thigh,  the  knee,  the  wound  in  the  abdomen. 
These  and  more  I  dress  with  impassive  hand,  (^yet  deep  in  my 
breast  a  fire,  a  burning  flame ^ 

Thus  in  silence,  in  dreams*  projections. 

Returning,  resuming,  I  thread  my  way  through  the  hospitals. 

The  hurt  and  wounded  I  pacify  with  soothing  hand, 

I  sit  by  the  restless  all  the  dark  night,  some  are  so  young. 

Some  suffer  so  much,  I  recall  the  experience  sweet  and  sad, 

{Many  a  soldier's  loving  arms  about  this  neck  have  crossed 

and  rested. 
Many  a  soldier's  kiss  dwells  on  these  bearded  lips,) 

The  Wound  Dresser, 


It 


ir 
t\ 
te 
te 
in 
hi 
m 
to 
re 
to 
fre 
ro 

CO 

ter 
en 
fit 
O' 

VOJ 

w 

Gr 

tha 

ma 

of 

by 

Jish 

WOl 


PREFACE 


AS  introduction  to  these  letters  from  Walt 
Whitman  to  his  mother,  1  have  availed 
myself  of  three  of  Whitman's  communications  to 
the  press  covering  the  time  during  which  the  ma- 
terial which  composes  this  volume  was  being  writ- 
ten. These  communications  (parts  of  which,  but 
in  no  case  the  whole,  were  used  by  Whitman  in 
his  "  Memoranda  of  the  Secession  War")  seem  to 
me  to  form,  in  spite  of  certain  duplications,  which 
to  my  mind  have  the  force,  not  the  weakness,  of 
repetition,  quite  an  ideal  background  to  the  letters 
to  Mrs.  Whitman,  since  they  give  a  full  and 
free  description  of  the  circumstances  and  sur- 
roundings in  the  midst  of  which  those  were 
composed.  Readers  who  desire  a  still  more  ex- 
tended account  of  the  man  himself,  his  work  and 
environment  at  that  time,  may  consult  with  pro- 
fit the  Editor's  " Walt  Whitman"  (pp.  34-44), 
O'Connor's  "Good  Gray  Poet"  (included  in  that 
volume,  pp.  99-130),  "  Specimen  Days  "  (pp.  26- 
63,  included  in  Walt  Whitman's  "  Complete  Prose 
Works  "),  and  above  all  the  section  of  "  Leaves  of 
Grass  "  called  "  Drum-Taps."  I  do  not  believe 
that  it  is  in  the  power  of  any  man  now  living  to 
make  an  important  addition  to  the  vivid  picture 
of  those  days  and  nights  in  the  hospitals  drawn 
by  Whitman  himself  and  to  be  found  in  his  pub- 
lished prose  and  verse,  and,  above  all,  in  the  living 
words  of  the  present  letters  to  his  mother.     These 


vu 


Preface 

last  were  written  on  the  spot,  as  the  scenes  and 
incidents,  in  all  their  living  and  sombre  colors, 
passed  before  his  eyes,  while  his  mind  and  heart 
were  full  of  the  sights  and  sounds,  the  episodes 
and  agonies,  of  those  terrible  hours.  How  could 
any  one  writing  in  cold  blood,  to-day,  hope  to  add 
words  of  any  value  to  those  he  wrote  then  ? 

Perhaps,  in  conclusion,  it  may  be  as  well  to 
repeat  what  was  said  in  the  introduction  to  a 
former  volume,  —  that  these  letters  make  no  pre- 
tensions as  literature.  They  are,  as  indeed  is  all 
that  Whitman  has  written  (as  he  himself  has  over 
and  over  again  said),  something  quite  different 
from,  that — something  much  less  to  the  average 
cultured  and  learned  man,  something  much  more 
to  the  man  or  woman  who  comes  within  range  of 
their  attraction.  But  doubtless  the  critics  will 
still  insist  that,  if  they  are  not  literature,  they  ought 
to  be,  or  otherwise  should  not  be  printed,  failing 
(as  is  their  wont)  to  comprehend  that  there  are 
other  qualities  and  characteristics  than  the  literary, 
some  of  them  as  important  and  as  valuable,  which 
may  be  more  or  less  adequately  conveyed  by  print. 

R.  M.  B. 


S4 


Vlll 


enes  and 
e  colors, 
.nd  heart 
episodes 
ow  could 
pe  to  add 
n? 

5  well  to 
ion  to  a 
e  no  pre- 
eed  is  all 
has  over 
different 
;  average 
ich  more 
range  of 
itics  will 
ey  ought 
d,  failing 
here  are 
;  literary, 
le,  which 
by  print. 

VI.  B. 


CONTENTS 

The  Great  Army  of  the  Wounded  .  i 
Life  among  Fifty  Thousand  Soldiers  n 
Hospital  Visits 

Letters  of  1862--? 

^  47 

Letters  of  1864 

^  H3 


n 


1 


ten 


THE   GREAT   ARMY   OF  THE 
WOUNDED 


HE  military  hospitals,  convalescent  camps, 
etc.,  in  Washington  and  its  neighborhood, 
jmetimes  contain  over  fifty  thousand  sick  and 
mounded  men.  Every  form  of  wound  (the  mere 
light  of  some  of  them  having  been  known  to 
lake  a  tolerably  hardy  visitor  faint  away),  every 
:ind  of  malady,  like  a  long  procession,  with 
^phoid  fever  and  diarrhoea  at  the  head  as  leaders, 
[re  here  in  steady  motion.  The  soldier's  hospital ! 
low  many  sleepless  nights,  how  many  women's 
;ars,  how  many  long  and  waking  hours  and  days 
Jf  suspense,  from  every  one  of  the  Middle,  Eastern, 
|nd  Western  States,  have  concentrated  here !  Our 
Wn  New  York,  in  the  form  of  hundreds  and 
lousands  of  her  young  men,  may  consider  her- 
jelf  here  —  Pennsylvania,  Ohio,  Indiana,  and  all 
le  West  and  Northwest  the  same — and  all  the 
few  England  States  the  same. 
Upon  a  few  of  these  hospitals  I  have  been 
^Imost  daily  calling  as  a  missionary,  on  my  own 
Recount,  for  the  sustenance  and  consolation  of 
|ome  of  the  most  needy  cases  of  sick  and  dying 
iien,  for  the  last  two  months.  One  has  much  to 
^arn  to  do  good  in  these  places.  Great  tact  is 
fequired.  These  are  not  like  other  hospitals.  By 
^r  the  greatest  proportion  (I  should  say  five  sixths) 
i|f  the  patients  are  American  young  men,  intelli- 
tent,  of  independent  spirit,  tender  feelings,  used 


1 1  .| 


The  Wound   Dresser 

to  a  hardy  and  healthy  life  ;  largely  the  farmers 
are  represented  by  their  sons  —  largely  the  me- 
chanics and  workingmen  of  the  cities.  Then 
they  are  soldiers.  All  these  points  must  be  borne 
in  mind. 

People  through  our  Northern  cities  have  little 
or  no  idea  of  the  great  and  prominent  feature 
which  these  military  hospitals  and  convalescent 
camps  make  in  and  around  Washington.  There 
are  not  merely  two  or  three  or  a  dozen,  but  some 
fifty  of  them,  of  different  degrees  of  capacity. 
Some  have  a  thousand  and  more  patients.  The 
newspapers  here  find  it  necessary  to  print  every 
day  a  directory  of  the  hospitals  —  a  long  list,  some- 
thing like  what  a  directory  of  the  churches  would 
be  in  New  York,  Philadelphia,  or  Boston. 

The  Government  (which  really  tries,  I  think, 
to  do  the  best  and  quickest  it  can  for  these  sad 
necessities)  is  gradually  settling  down  to  adopt  the 
plan  of  placing  the  hospitals  in  clusters  of  one- 
story  wooden  barracks,  with  their  accompanying 
tents  and  sheds  for  cooking  and  all  needed  pur- 
poses. Taking  all  things  into  consideration,  no 
doubt  these  are  best  adapted  to  the  purpose ; 
better  than  using  churches  and  large  public  build- 
ings like  the  Patent  office.  These  sheds  now 
adopted  are  long,  one-story  edifices,  sometimes 
ranged  along  in  a  row,  with  their  heads  to  the 
street,  and  numbered  either  alphabetically,  Wards 
A  or  B,  C,  D,  and  so  on  ;  or  Wards  i,  2,  3,  etc. 
The  middle  one  will  be  marked  by  a  flagstaff,  and 
is  the  office  of  the  establishment,  with  rooms  for 


55^ 


e  farmers 
'  the  me- 
s.  Then 
jt  be  borne 

have  little 
mt  feature 
)nvalescent 
,n.  There 
,  but  some 
(f  capacity, 
ents.  The 
print  every 
y  list,  some- 
ches  would 
ton. 

les,  I  think, 
r  these  sad 
[q  adopt  the 
ters  or  one- 
:ompanying 
leeded  pur- 
deration,  no 
e  purpose ; 
lublic  build- 
sheds   now 
,  sometimes 
eads  to  the 
:ally.  Wards 
I,  2,  3>etc. 
agstaff,  and 
h  rooms  for 


The  Great  Army  of  the  Wounded 

the  ward  surgeons,  etc.  One  of  these  sheds,  or 
wards,  will  contain  sixty  cots ;  sometimes,  on  an 
emergency,  they  move  them  close  together,  and 
crowd  in  more.  Some  of  the  barracks  are  larger, 
with,  of  course,  more  inmates.  Frequently  there 
are  tents,  more  comfortable  here  than  one  might 
think,  whatever  they  may  be  down  in  the  army. 

Each  ward  has  a  ward-master,  and  generally 
a  nurse  for  every  ten  or  twelve  men.  A  ward 
surgeon  has,  generally,  two  wards  —  although 
this  varies.  Some  of  the  wards  have  a  woman 
nurse  ;   the  Armory-square  wards  have  some  very 

leood    ones.      The    one   in   Ward    E    is   one   of 

ithe  best. 

A  few  weeks  ago  the  vast  area  of  the  second 

story  of  that    noblest  of  Washington  buildings, 

the  Patent  office,  was  crowded  close  with  rows  of 

sick,  badly  wounded,  and  dying  soldiers.     They 

■iwere  placed  in  three  very  large    apartments.     I 

went  there  several  times.    It  was  a  strange,  solemn, 

and,  with  all  its  features  of  suffering  and  death,  a 

^sort  of  fascinating  sight.      I    went   sometimes  at 

,  night  to  soothe  and  relieve  particular  cases  ;  some, 

jl  found,  needed  a  little  cheering  up  and  friendly 

^consolation   at  that   time,  for  they  went  to  sleep 

.better  afterwards.     Two  of  the  immense   apart- 

*ments  are  filled  with  high  and  ponderous  glass 

cases  crowded  with  models  in  miniature  of  every 

•kind  of  utensil,  machine,    or    invention  it    ever 

lientered  into  the  mind  of  man  to  conceive,  and 

**lwith  curiosities  and  foreign  presents.      Between 

'^hese  cases  were  lateral  openings,  perhaps    eight 

■'1  i 


* 


( 


The   Wound   Dresser 

feet  wide,  and  quite  deep,  and  in  these  were  placed 
many  of  the  sick  ;  besides  a  great  long  double  row 
of  them  up  and  down  through  the  middle  of  the 
hall.  Many  of  them  were  very  bad  cases,  wounds 
and  amputations.  Then  there  was  a  gallery  run- 
ning above  the  hall,  in  which  there  were  beds 
also.  It  was,  indeed,  a  curious  scene  at  night 
when  lit  up.  The  glass  cases,  the  beds,  the  sick, 
the  gallery  above  and  the  marble  pavement  under 
foot ;  the  suffering,  and  the  fortitude  to  bear  it 
in  the  various  degrees  ;  occasionally,  from  some, 
the  groan  that  could  not  be  repressed  ;  sometimes 
a  poor  fellow  dying,  with  emaciated  face  and  glassy 
eyes,  the  nurse  by  his  side,  the  doctor  also  there, 
but  no  friend,  no  relative  —  such  were  the  sights 
but  lately  in  the  Patent  office.  The  wounded 
have  since  been  removed  from  there,  and  it  is  now 
vacant  again. 

Of  course  there  are  among  these  thousands  of 
prostrated  soldiers  in  hospital  here  all  sorts  of  in- 
dividual cases.  On  recurring  to  my  note-book, 
I  am  puzzled  which  cases  to  select  to  illustrate 
the  average  of  these  young  men  and  their  experi- 
ences. I  may  here  say,  too,  in  general  terms, 
that  I  could  not  wish  for  more  candor  and  man- 
liness, among  all  their  sufferings,  than  I  find  among 
them. 

Take  this  case  in  Ward  6,  Campbell  hospital : 
a  young  man  from  Plymouth  county,  Massachu- 
setts ;  a  farmer's  son,  aged  about  twenty  or  twenty- 
one  ;  a  soldierly,  American  young  fellow,  but 
with  sensitive  and  tender  feelings.     Most  of  De- 

4 


ere  placed 
iouble  row 
die  of  the 
;s,  wounds 
dlery  run- 
were  beds 
;  at   night 
5,  the  sick, 
lent  under 
to  bear  it 
rom  some, 
sometimes 
and  glassy 
also  there, 
the  sights 
e  wounded 
d  it  is  now 

ousands  of 
sorts  of  in- 
note-book, 
o  illustrate 
eir  experi- 
ral  terms, 
and  man- 
nd  among 

II  hospital : 
iMassachu- 

or  twenty- 
fellow,  but 

►st  of  De- 


I 


The  Great  Army  of  the  Wounded 

cember  and  January  last  he  lay  very  low,  and  for 
quite  a  while  I  never  expected  he  would  recover. 
He  had  become  prostrated  with  an  obstinate 
diarrhoea :  his  stomach  would  hardly  keep  the 
least  thing  down  ;  he  was  vomiting  half  the  time. 
But  that  was  hardly  the  worst  of  it.  Let  me  tell 
his  story  —  it  is  but  one  of  thousands. 

He  had  been  some  time  sick  with  his  regiment 
in  the  field,  in  front,  but  did  his  duty  as  long  as 
he  could ;  was  in  the  battle  of  Fredericksburg ; 
soon  after  was  put  in  the  regimental  hospital. 
He  kept  getting  worse  —  could  not  eat  anything 
they  had  there ;  the  doctor  told  him  nothing 
could  be  done  for  him  there.  The  poor  fellow  had 
fever  also ;  received  (perhaps  it  could  not  be 
helped)  little  or  no  attention ;  lay  on  the  ground, 
getting  worse.  Toward  the  latter  part  of  Decem- 
ber, very  much  enfeebled,  he  was  sent  up  from 
the  front,  from  Falmouth  station,  in  an  open 
platform  car  (such  as  hogs  are  transported  upon 
North),  and  dumped  with  a  crowd  of  others  on 
the  boat  at  Aquia  creek,  falling  down  like  a  rag 
where  they  deposited  him,  too  weak  and  sick  to 
sit  up  or  help  himself  at  all.  No  one  spoke  to 
him  or  assisted  him ;  he  had  nothing  to  eat  or 
drink;  was  used  (amid  the  great  crowds  of  sick) 
either  with  perfect  indifference,  or,  as  in  two  or 
three  instances,  with  heartless  brutality. 

On  the  boat,  when  night  came  and  when  the 
air  grew  chilly,  he  tried  a  long  time  to  undo  the 
blankets  he  had  in  his  knapsack,  but  was  too  feeble. 
He  asked  one  of  the  employees,  who  was  moving 

5 


I  i 


The  Wound   Dresser 

around  deck,  for  a  moment's  assistance  to  get  the 
blankets.  The  man  asked  him  back  if  he  could 
not  get  them  himself.  He  answered,  no,  he  had 
been  trying  for  more  than  half  an  hour,  and  found 
himself  too  weak.  The  man  rejoined,  he  might 
then  go  without  them,  and  walked  off.  So  H. 
lay  chilled  and  damp  on  deck  all  night,  without 
anything  under  or  over  him,  while  two  good 
blankets  were  within  reach.  It  caused  him  a 
great  injury  —  nearly  cost  him  his  life. 

Arrived  at  Washington,  he  was  brought  ashore 
and  again  left  on  the  wharf,  or  above  it,  amid  the 
great  crowds,  as  before,  without  any  nourishment 
—  net  a  drink  for  his  parched  mouth;  no  kind 
hand  had  offered  to  cover  his  face  from  the  fore- 
noon sun.  Conveyed  at  last  some  two  miles  by 
the  ambulance  to  the  hospital,  and  assigned  a  bed 
(Bed  49,  Ward  6,  Campbell  hospital,  January 
and  February,  1863),  he  fell  down  exhausted  upon 
the  bed.  But  the  ward-master  (he  has  since  been 
changed)  came  to  him  with  a  growling  order  to 
get  up  :  the  rules,  he  said,  permitted  no  man  to 
lie  down  in  that  way  with  his  own  clothes  on ;  he 
must  sit  up  —  must  first  go  to  the  bath-room,  be 
washed,  and  have  his  clothes  completely  changed. 
(A  very  good  rule,  properly  applied.)  He  was 
taken  to  the  bath-room  and  scrubbed  well  with 
cold  water.  The  attendants,  callous  for  a  while, 
were  soon  alarmed,  for  suddenly  the  half-frozen 
and  lifeless  body  fell  limpsy  in  their  hands,  and 
they  hurried  it  back  to  the  cot,  plainly  insensible, 
perhaps  dying. 


M 


The  Great  Army  of  the  Wounded 

Poor  boy  !  the  long  train  of  exhaustion,  depri- 
vation, rudeness,  no  food,  no  friendly  word  or 
deed,  but  all  kinds  of  upstart  airs  and  impudent, 
unfeeling  speeches  and  deeds,  from  all  kinds  of 
small  officials  (and  some  big  ones),  cutting  like 
razors  into  that  sensitive  heart,  had  at  last  done 
the  job.  He  now  lay,  at  times  out  of  his  head 
but  quite  silent,  asking  nothing  of  any  one,  for 
some  days,  with  death  getting  a  closer  and  a  surer 
grip  upon  him  ;  he  cared  not,  or  rather  he  wel- 
comed death.  His  heart  was  broken.  He  felt 
the  struggle  to  keep  up  any  longer  to  be  useless. 
God,  the  world,  humanity  —  all  had  abandoned 
him.  It  would  feel  so  good  to  shut  his  eyes  for- 
ever on  the  cruel  things  around  him  and  toward 
him. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  at  this  time  I  found  him. 
I  was  passing  down  Ward  No.  6  one  day  about 
dusk  (4th  January,  I  think),  and  noticed  his 
glassy  eyes,  with  a  look  of  despair  and  hopeless- 
ness, sunk  low  in  his  thin,  pallid-brown  young 
face.  One  learns  to  divine  quickly  in  the  hospital, 
and  as  I  stopped  by  him  and  spoke  some  common- 
place remark  (to  which  he  made  no  reply),  I  saw 
as  I  looked  that  it  was  a  case  for  ministering  to 
the  affection  first,  and  other  nourishment  and  med- 
icines afterward.  I  sat  down  by  him  without  any 
fuss  ;  talked  a  little  ;  soon  saw  that  it  did  him 
good;  led  him  to  talk  a  little  himself;  got  him 
somewhat  interested  ;  wrote  a  letter  for  him  to  his 
folks  in  Massachusetts  (to  L.  H.  Campbell, 
Plymouth  county ) ;  soothed  him  down  as  I  saw 

7 


-I 


The  Wound   Dresser 

he  was  getting  a  little  too  much  agitated,  and 
tears  in  his  eyes ;  gave  him  some  small  gifts,  and 
told  him  I  should  come  again  soon.  (He  has 
told  me  since  that  this  little  visit,  at  that  hour, 
just  saved  him ;  a  day  more,  and  it  would  have 
been  perhaps  too  late.) 

Of  course  I  did  not  forget  him,  for  he  was  a 
young  fellow  to  interest  any  one.  He  remained 
very  sick  —  vomiting  much  every  day,  frequent 
diarrhoea,  and  also  something  like  bronchitis,  the 
doctor  said.  For  a  while  I  visited  him  almost 
every  day,  cheered  him  up,  took  him  some  little 
gifts,  and  gave  him  small  sums  of  money  (he 
relished  a  drink  of  new  milk,  when  it  was  brought 
through  the  ward  for  sale).  For  a  couple  of 
weeks  his  condition  was  uncertain — sometimes  I 
thought  there  was  no  chance  for  him  at  all ;  but 
of  late  he  is  doing  better  —  is  up  and  dressed, 
and  goes  around  more  and  more  (February  21) 
every  day.     He  will  not  die,  but  will  recover. 

The  other  evening,  passing  through  the  ward, 
he  called  me  —  he  wanted  to  say  a  few  words, 
particular.  I  sat  down  by  his  side  on  the  cot  in 
the  dimness  of  the  long  ward,  with  the  wounded 
soldiers  there  in  their  beds,  ranging  up  and  down. 
H.  told  me  I  had  saved  his  life.  He  was  in  the 
deepest  earnest  about  it.  It  was  one  of  those 
things  that  repay  a  soldiers*  hospital  missionary  a 
thousandfold  —  one  of  the  hours  he  never  forgets. 

A  benevolent  person,  with  the  right  qualities 
and  tact,  cannot,  perhaps,  make  a  better  invest- 
ment of  himself,  at  present,  anywhere  upon  the 

8 


Lted,  and 
gifts,  and 
(He  has 
lat  hour, 
)uld  have 

he  was  a 
remained 
,  frequent 
chitis,  the 
m  almost 
ome  little 
loney    (he 
LS  brought 
couple    of 
metimes  I 
Lt  all ;  but 
d  dressed, 
iruary  21) 
cover, 
the  ward, 
bw  words, 
he  cot  in 
wounded 
ind  down. 
^^as  in  the 
of  those 
ssionary  a 
er  forgets, 
qualities 
er  invest- 
upon  the 


The  Great  Army  of  the  Wounded 

varied  surface  of  the  whole  of  this  big  world,  than 
in  these  military  hospitals,  among  such  thousands 
of  most  interesting  young  men.  The  army  is 
very  young  —  and  so  much  more  American  than 
I  supposed.  Reader,  how  can  I  describe  to  you 
the  mute  appealing  look  that  rolls  and  moves 
from  many  a  manly  eye,  from  many  a  sick  cot, 
following  you  as  you  walk  slowly  down  one  of 
these  wards  ?  To  see  these,  and  to  be  incapa- 
ble of  responding  to  them,  except  in  a  few 
cases  (so  very  few  compared  to  the  whole  of  the 
suffering  men),  is  enough  to  make  one's  heart 
crack.  I  go  through  in  some  cases,  cheering  up 
the  men,  distributing  now  and  then  little  sums 
of  money  —  and,  regularly,  letter-paper  and  en- 
velopes, oranges,  tobacco,  jellies,  etc.,  etc. 

Many  things  invite  comment,  and  some  of 
them  sharp  criticism,  in  these  hospitals.  The 
Government,  as  I  said,  is  anxious  and  liberal  in 
its  practice  toward  its  sick ;  but  the  work  has  to 
be  left,  in  its  personal  application  to  the  men,  to 
hundreds  of  officials  of  one  grade  or  another 
about  the  hospitals,  who  are  sometimes  entirely 
lacking  in  the  right  qualities.  There  are  tyrants 
and  shysters  in  all  positions,  and  especially  those 
dressed  in  subordinate  authority.  Some  of  the 
ward  doctors  are  careless,  rude,  capricious,  need- 
llessly  strict.  One  I  found  who  prohibited  the 
men  from  all  enlivening  amusements;  I  found 
I  him  sending  men  to  the  guard-house  for  the  most 
'trifling  offence.  In  general,  perhaps,  the  officials 
I —  especially  the  new  ones,  with  their  straps  or 

9 


Hi 


!   If 


I' 


The   Wound   Dresser 

badges — put  on  too  many  airs.  Of  all  places 
in  tne  world,  the  hospitals  of  American  young 
men  and  soldiers,  wounded  in  the  volunteer  ser- 
vice of  their  country,  ought  to  be  exempt  from 
mere  conventional  military  airs  and  etiquette  of 
shoulder-straps.     But  they  are  not  exempt. 

W.W. 

From  the  New  Tork  Times,  February  26^  i86j. 


,  1 


10 


all  places 
:an  young 
unteer  ser- 
:mpt  from 
tiquette  of 
:empt. 

W.W. 

5j. 


LIFE   AMONG   FIFTY  THOUSAND 

SOLDIERS 

OUR  Brooklyn  people,  not  only  from  having 
so  many  hundreds  of  their  own  kith  and 
kin,  and  almost  everyhody  some  friend  or  ac- 
quaintance, here  in  the  clustering  military  hos- 
pitals of  Washington,  would  d(/ul)tless  be  glad  to 
get  some  account  of  these  establishments,  but  also 
to  satisfy  that  compound  of  benevolence  and  gen- 
erosity which  marks  Brooklyn,  I  have  sometimes 
thought,  more  than  any  other  city  in  the  world. 
A  military  hospital  here  in  Washington  is  a  little 
city  by  itself,  and  contains  a  larger  population 
than  most  of  the  well-known  country  towns  down 
in  the  Queens  and  Suffolk  county  portions  of 
Long  Island.  I  say  one  of  the  Government  hos- 
pitals here  is  a  little  city  in  itself,  and  there  are 
some  fifty  of  these  hospitals  in  the  District  of 
Columbia  alone.  In  them  are  collected  the  tens 
of  thousands  of  sick  and  wounded  soldiers,  the 
legacies  of  many  a  bloody  battle  and  of  the  ex- 
posure of  two  years  of  camp  life.  I  find  these 
places  full  of  significance.  They  have  taken  up 
my  principal  time  and  labor  for  some  months  past. 
Imagine  a  long,  one-story  wooden  shed,  like  a  short, 
wide  ropewalk,  well  whitewashed;  then  cluster  ten 
or  a  dozen  of  these  together,  with  several  smaller 
sheds  and  tents,  and  you  have  the  soldiers*  hos- 
pital as  generally  adopted  here.  It  will  contain 
perhaps  six  or  seven  hundred  men,  or  perhaps  a 

II 


lil 


,i 


I 


I J 


,  ( 


The  Wound   Dresser 

thousand,  and  occasionally  more  still.  There  is  a 
regular  stafFand  a  sub-staff  of  big  and  little  officials. 
Military  etiquette  is  observed,  and  it  is  getting  to 
beconie  very  stiff.  I  shall  take  occasion,  before 
long,  to  show  up  some  of  this  ill-fitting  nonsense. 
The  harvest  is  large,  the  gleaners  few.  Beginning 
at  first  with  casual  visits  to  these  establishments 
to  see  some  of  the  Brooklyn  men,  wounded  or 
sick,  here,  I  became  by  degrees  more  and  more 
drawn  in,  until  I  have  now  been  for  many  weeks 
quite  a  devotee  to  the  business  —  a  regular  self- 
appointed  missionary  to  these  thousands  and  tens 
of  thousands  of  wounded  and  sick  young  men  here, 
left  upon  Government  hands,  many  of  them  lan- 
guishing, many  of  them  dying.  I  am  not  connected 
with  any  society,  but  go  on  my  own  individual 
account,  and  to  the  work  that  appears  to  be  called 
for.  Almost  every  day,  and  frequently  in  the 
evenings,  I  visit,  in  this  informal  way,  one  after 
another  of  the  wards  of  a  hospital,  and  always  find 
cases  enough  where  I  can  be  of  service.  Cases 
enough,  do  I  say  ?  Alas  !  there  is,  perhaps,  not 
one  ward  or  tent,  out  of  the  seven  or  eight  hun- 
dred now  hereabout  filled  with  sick,  in  which  I  am 
sure  I  might  not  profitably  devote  every  hour  of 
my  life  to  the  abstract  work  of  consolation  and 
sustenance  for  its  suffering  inmates.  And  indeed, 
beyond  that,  a  person  feels  that  in  some  one  of 
these  crowded  wards  he  would  like  to  pick  out 
two  or  three  cases  and  devote  himself  wholly  to 
them.  Meanwhile,  however,  to  do  the  best  that 
is  permitted,  I  go  around,  distributing  myself  and 

12 


There  is  a 
tie  officials. 
;  getting  to 
;ion,  before 
r  nonsense. 
Beginning 
iblishments 
mounded  or 
and  more 
nany  weeks 
egular  self- 
is  and  tens 
g  men  here, 
^  them  lan- 
t  connected 
indiWdual 
:o  be  called 
ntly  in  the 
,  one  after 
always  find 
lice.     Cases 
rhaps,  not 
eight  hun- 
hich  I  am 
|ry  hour  of 
lation  and 
nd  indeed, 
me  one  of 
pick  out 
wholly  to 
best  that 
yself  and 


Life  among  Fifty  Thousand  Soldiers 

[the  contents  of  my  pockets  and  haversack  in  in- 

mnitesimal  quantities,  with  faith  that  nearly  all  of 

lit  will,  somehow  or  other,  fall  on  good  ground. 

In  many  cases,  where  I  find  a  soldier  "  dead  broke  '* 

ind  pretty  sick,  I    give  half  a  tumbler  of  good 

fielly.     I  carry  a  good-sized  jar  to  a  ward,  have  it 

lopened,  get  a  spoon,  and  taking  the  head  nurse 

in  tow,  I  go  around  and  distribute  it  to  the  most 

appropriate  cases.     To  others  I  give  an  orange  or 

an  apple ;  to  others  some  spiced  fruits;  to  others 

a  small  quantity  of  pickles.     Many  want  tobacco  : 

I  do  not  encourage  any  of  the  boys  in  its  use,  but 

where  I   find    they  crave  it    I    supply  them.     I 

always  carry  some,  cut  up  in  small  plugs,  in  my 

pocket.     Then  I  have  commissions:  some  New 

York    or    Connecticut,  or    other   soldier,  will   be 

going  home  on  sick  leave,  or  perhaps  discharged, 

and  I  must  fit  him  out  with  good  new  undershirt, 

drawers,  stockings,  etc. 

But  perhaps  the  greatest  welcome  is  for  writing 
[paper,  envelopes,  etc.  I  find  these  always  a  rare 
reliance.  When  I  go  into  a  new  ward,  I  always 
carry  two  or  three  quires  of  paper  and  a  good  lot 
of  envelopes,  and  walk  up  and  down  and  circulate 
them  around  to  those  who  desire  them.  Then 
some  will  want  pens,  pencils,  etc.  In  some  hos- 
pitals there  is  quite  a  plenty  of  reading  matter; 
but  others,  where  it  is  needed,  I  supply. 

By  these  and  like  means  one  comes  to  be  better 
lacquainted  with  individual  cases,  and  so  learns 
levery  day  peculiar  and  interesting  character,  and 
[ets  on  intimate  and  soon  affectionate  terms  with 

13 


i  i 


i  li 


I 


i 


The  Wound   Dresser 


I 


f 


(I 


noble  American  young  men ;  and  now  is  where  the 
real  good  begins  to  be  done,  after  all.  Here,  I 
will  egotistically  confess,  I  like  to  flourish.  Even 
in  a  medical  point  of  view  it  is  one  of  the  greatest 
things  ;  and  in  a  surgical  point  of  view,  the  same. 
I  can  testify  that  friendship  has  literally  cured  a 
fever,  and  the  medicine  of  daily  affection,  a  bad 
wound.  In  these  sayings  are  the  final  secret  of 
carrying  out  well  the  role  of  a  hospital  missionary 
for  our  soldiers,  which  I  tell  for  those  who  will 
understand  them. 

As  I  write,  I  have  lying  before  me  a  little  dis- 
carded note-book,  filled  with  memoranda  of  things 
wanted  by  the  sick  —  special  cases.  I  use  up  one 
of  these  little  books  in  a  week.  See  from  this 
sample,  for  instance,  after  walking  through  a  ward 
or  two:  Bed  53  wants  some  liquorice;  Bed  6  — 
erysipelas  —  bring  some  raspberry  vinegar  to  make 
a  cooling  drink,  with  water  ;  Bed  i8  wants  a  good 
book —  a  romance  ;  Bed  25  — a  manly,  friendly 
young  fellow,  H.  D.  B.,  of  the  Twenty-seventh 
Connecticut,  an  independent  young  soul  —  refuses 
money  and  eatables,  so  I  will  bring  him  a  pipe  and 
tobacco,  for  I  see  he  much  enjoys  a  smoke ;  Bed  45 
— sore  throat  and  cough — wants  horehou  nd  candy ; 
Bed  II,  when  I  come  again,  don*t  forget  to  write  a 
letter  for  him;  etc.  The  wants  are  a  long  and 
varied  list :  some  need  to  be  humored  and  forgot- 
ten, others  need  to  be  especially  remembered  and 
obeyed.  One  pocr  German,  dying  —  in  the  last 
stage  of  consumption  —  wished  me  to  find  him, 
in  Washington,  a  German   Lutheran  clergyman, 

H 


\^ 

S( 

fee 

ai 


3  where  the 
Here,  I 

sh.  Even 
he  greatest 
,  the  same, 
lly  cured  a 
tion,  a  bad 
l1  secret  of 
missionary 
s  who  will 

a  little  dis- 

la  of  things 

use  up  one 

;  from  this 

ugh  a  ward 

;  Bed  6  — 

gar  to  make 

nts  a  good 

y,  friendly 

ty-seventh 

1  —  refuses 

pipe  and 

:e;  Bed  45 

und candy; 

to  write  a 

long  and 

nd  forgot- 

bered  and 

in  the  last 

find  him, 

lergyman, 


Life  among  Fifty  Thousand  Soldiers 

and  send  him  to  him  ;  I  did  so.     One  patient  will 

I  want  nothing  but  a  toothpick,  another  a  comb, 

I  and  so  on.     All  whims  are  represented,  and  all 

I  the    States.     There  are    many  New  York  State 

jsoldiers  here  ;  also  Pennsylvanians.      I    find,  of 

(course,  many    from   Massachusetts,  Connecticut, 

and  all  the   New   England  States,  and  from   the 

Western  and  Northwestern  States.     Five   sixths 

of  the  soldiers  are  young  men. 

)     Among  other   cases   of  young  men  from  our 

own  city  of  Brooklyn  I  have  encountered  and 

have  had  much  to  do   with  in  hospital   here,  is 

John   Lowery,  wounded,  and  arm  amputated,  at 

Fredericksburg.     I  saw  this  young  fellow  down 

there  last  December,  immediately  after  the  battle, 

lying  on  a  blanket  on  the  ground,  the  stump  of 

his  arm  bandaged,  but  he  not  a  bit  disheartened. 

He  was  soon  afterward  sent  up  from  the  front  by 

way  of  Aquia  creek,  and  has  for  the  past  three 

months  been  in  the  Campbell  hospital  here,  in 

Ward  6,  on   the  gain   slowly  but  steadily.     He 

thinks    a  great  deal   of  his  physician   here.  Dr. 

^Frank   Hinkle,  and  as  some  fifty  other  soldiers 

in  the  ward  do  the  same,  and  bear  testimony  in 

their  hearty  gratitude,  and  medical  and  surgical 

imprisonment,  to  the  quality  of  Dr.  H.,  I  think 

he  deserves  honorable   mention  in  this  letter  to 

the  people  of  our  city  —  especially    as    another 

Brooklyn   soldier   in  Ward  6,  Amos   H.  Vliet, 

expresses  the  same  feeling  of  obligation  to  the 

doctor  for  his   faithfulness  and  kindness.     Vliet 

land  Lowery  both  belong  to  that  old  war  regiment 

IS 


I 
if} 


f. 


The  Wound  Dresser 

whose  flag  has  flaunted  through  more  than  a  score 
of  hot-contested  battles,  the  Fifty-first  New  York, 
Colonel  Potter;  and  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  no 
small  portion  of  the  fame  of  this  old  veteran  regi- 
ment may  be  claimed  near  home,  for  many  of  her 
oflicers  and  men  are  from  Brooklyn.  The  friends 
of  these  two  young  soldiers  will  have  a  chance  to 
talk  to  them  soon  in  Brooklyn.  I  have  seen  a 
good  deal  of  Jack  Lowery,  and  I  find  him,  and 
heard  of  him  on  the  field,  as  a  brave,  soldierly 
fellow.  Amos  Vliet,  too,  made  a  first-rate  soldier. 
He  has  had  frozen  feet  pretty  bad,  but  now  better. 
Occasionally  I  meet  some  of  the  Brooklyn  Four- 
teenth. In  Ward  E  of  Armory  hospital  I  found 
a  member  of  Company  C  of  that  regiment,  Isaac 
Snyder;  he  is  now  acting  as  nurse  there,  and 
makes  a  very  good  one.  Charles  Dean,  of  Co.  H 
of  the  same  regiment,  is  in  Ward  A  of  Armory, 
acting  as  ward-master.  I  also  got  very  well  ac- 
quainted with  a  young  man  of  the  Brooklyn 
Fourteenth  who  lay  sick  some  time  in  Ward  F; 
he  has  lately  got  his  discharge  and  gone  home. 
I  have  met  with  others  in  the  H-street  and  Patent- 
ofiice  hospitals.  Colonel  Fowler,  of  the  Four- 
teenth, is  in  charge,  I  believe,  of  the  convalescent 
camp  at  Alexandria.  Lieutenant-Colonel  Debe- 
voise  is  in  Brooklyn,  in  poor  health,  I  am  sorry 
to  say.  Thus  the  Brooklyn  invalids  are  scattered 
around. 

Off  in  the  mud,  a  mile  east  of  the  Capitol,  I 
found  the  other  day,  in  Emory  hospital  there, 

in  Ward  C,  three  Brooklyn  soldiers  —  Allen  V. 

i6 


i; 


n  a  score 
ew  York, 
d  that  no 
:ran  regi- 
ny  of  her 
le  friends 
chance  to 
ve  seen  a 
him,  and 
soldierly 
:e  soldier. 
3w  better, 
yn  Four- 
,1  I  found 
^nt,  Isaac 
iiere,  and 
ofCo.  H 
Armory, 
well  ac- 
Brooklyn 
Ward  F; 
e  home, 
d  Patent- 
le  Four- 
ivalescent 
lel  Debe- 
|am  sorry 
scattered 

.apitol,  I 
tal  there, 
dlen  V. 


[Life  among  Fifty  Thousand  Soldiers 

^King,  Michael  Lally,  and  Patrick  Hennessy; 
none  of  them,  however,  are  very  sick. 

At  a  rough  guess,  I  should  say  I  have  met 
from  one  hundred  and  fifty  to  two  hundred 
young  and  middle-aged  men  whom  I  specifically 
found  to  be  Brooklyn  persons.  Many  of  them 
I  recognized  as  having  seen  their  faces  before, 
and  very  many  of  them  knew  me.  Some  said 
they  had  known  me  from  boyhood.  Some  would 
tall  to  me  as  I  passed  down  a  ward,  and  tell  me 
they  had  seen  me  in  Brooklyn.  I  have  had  this 
happen  at  night,  and  have  been  entreated  to  stop 
und  sit  down  and  take  the  hand  of  a  sick  and 
Iresdess  boy,  and  talk  to  him  and  comfiart  him 
awhile,  for  old  Brooklyn's  sake. 

Some  pompous  and  every  way  improper  per- 
sons, of  course,  get  in  power  in  hospitals,  and 
|iave  full  swing  over  the  helpless  soldiers.  There 
|s  great  state  kept  at  Judiciary-square  hospital, 
for  instance.  An  individual  who  probably  has 
been  waiter  somewhere  for  years  past  has  got 
into  the  high  and  mighty  position  of  sergeant-of- 
arms  at  this  hospital ;  he  is  called  "  Red  Stripe  " 
(from  his  artillery  trimmings)  by  the  patients,  of 
whom  he  is  at  the  same  time  the  tyrant  and  the 
laughing-stock.  Going  in  to  call  on  some  sick 
New  York  soldiers  here  the  other  afternoon,  I 
Was  stopped  and  treated  to  a  specimen  of  the  airs 
Vpf  this  powerful  oflicer.  Surely  the  Government 
Would  do  better  to  send  such  able-bodied  loafers 
|iown  into  service  in  front,  where  they  could  earn 
Ifheir  rations,  than  keep  them  here  in  the  idle  and 
»  1 7 


I 


til 


' 


The  Wound  Dresser 


;!'! 


shallow  sinecures  of  military  guard  over  a  collec- 
tion of  sick  soldiers  to  give  insolence  to  their 
visitors  and  friends.  I  found  a  shallow  old  per- 
son also  here  named  Dr.  Hall,  who  told  me  he 
had  been  eighteen  years  in  the  service.  I  must 
give  this  Judiciary  establishment  the  credit,  from 
my  visits  to  it,  of  saying  that  while  in  all  the 
other  hospitals  I  met  with  general  cordiality  and 
deference  among  the  doctors,  ward  officers,  nurses, 
etc.,  I  have  found  more  impudence  and  more 
dandy  doctorism  and  more  needless  airs  at  this 
Judiciary,  than  in  all  the  twoscore  other  establish- 
ments in  and  around  Washington.  But  the  corps 
of  management  at  the  Judiciary  has  a  bad  name 
anyhow,  and  I  only  specify  it  here  to  put  on 
record  the  general  opinion,  and  in  hopes  it  may 
help  in  calling  the  attention  of  the  Government  to 
a  remedy.  For  this  hospital  is  half  filled  with 
New  York  soldiers,  many  noble  fellows,  and 
many  sad  and  interesting  cases.  Of  course  there 
are  exceptions  of  good  officials  here,  and  some  of 
the  women  nurses  are  excellent,  but  the  Empire 
State  has  no  reason  to  be  over-satisfied  with  this 
hospital. 

But  I  should  say,  in  conclusion,  that  the 
earnest  and  continued  desire  of  the  Government, 
and  much  devoted  labor,  are  given  to  make  the 
military  hospitals  here  as  good  as  they  can  be, 
considering  all  things.  I  find  no  expense  spared, 
and  great  anxiety  manifested  in  the  highest 
quarters,  to  do  well  by  the  national  sick.  I  meet 
with  first-class  surgeons  in  charge  of  many  of  the 

i8 


Life  among  Fifty  Thousand  Soldiers 

hospitals,  and  often  the  ward  surgeons,  medical 
cadets,    and    head    nurses,  are    fully  faithful  and 
[Competent.     Dr.  Bliss,  head  of  Armory-square, 
and  Dr.  Baxter,  head  of  Campbell,  seem   to  me 
jto  try  to  do   their  best,  and  to  be  excellent  in 
Itheir  posts.     Dr.   Bowen,  one  of  the  ward  sur- 
geons of  Armory,  I  have  known  to  fight  as  hard 
For  many  a  poor  fellow's  life  under  his  charge  as 
la  lioness  would  fight  for  her  young.     I  mention 
such  cases   because  I  think  they  deserve  it,  on 
public  grounds. 

I  thought  I  would  include  in  my  letter  a  few 
leases  of  soldiers,  especially  interesting,  out  of  my 
note-book,  but  I  find  that  my  story  has  already 
[been  spun  out  to  sufficient  length.  I  shall  con- 
tinue here  in  Washington  for  the  present,  and 
may-be  for  the  summer,  to  work  as  a  missionary, 
after  my  own  style,  among  these  hospitals,  for  I 
find  it  in  some  respects  curiously  fascinating,  with 
[all  its  sadness.  Nor  do  I  find  it  ended  by  my 
[doing  some  good  to  the  sick  and  dying  soldiers. 
They  do  me  good  in  return,  more  than  I  do 
[them, 

W.W. 

From  the  Brooklyn  Eagle,  March  zp,  1863* 


1 


k 


19 


army 
Th 

I  gener 

if  for  a 
1  alone 

4 

1  perio( 

I  hour, 

I  ton,  t] 

*'  cases 

jaccou 

rapidi 

in  as  ( 

land  c 

be  see 

gloom 


HOSPITAL  VISITS 


AS  this  tremendous  war  goes  on,  the  public 
interest  becomes  more  general  and  gathers 
Imore  and  more  closely  about  the  wounded,  the 
sick,  and  the  Government  hospitals,  the  surgeons, 
land  all  appertaining  to  the  medical  department  of 
[the  army.  Up  to  the  date  of  this  writing  (Decem- 
ber 9,  1864)  there  have  been,  as  I  estimate,  near 
four  hundred  thousand  cases  under  treatment, 
and  there  are  to-day,  probably,  taking  the  whole 
service  of  the  United  States,  two  hundred  thou- 
sand, or  an  approximation  to  that  number,  on  the 
doctors'  list.  Half  of  these  are  comparatively 
[slight  ailments  or  hurts.  Every  family  has  directly 
lor  indirectly  some  representative  among  this  vast 
army  of  the  wounded  and  sick. 

The  following  sketch  is  made  to  gratify  the 
^general  interest  in  this  field  of  the  war,  and  also 
for  a  few  special  persons  through  whose  means 
alone  I  have  aided  the  men.  It  extends  over  a 
[period  of  two  years,  coming  down  to  the  present 
hour,  and  exhibits  the  army  hospitals  at  Washing- 
ton, the  camp  hospitals  in  the  field,  etc.  A  very  few 
cases  are  given  as  specimens  of  thousands.  The 
account  may  be  relied  upon  as  faithful,  though 
rapidly  thrown  together.  It  will  put  the  reader 
in  as  direct  contact  as  may  be  with  scenes,  sisjhts, 
and  cases  of  these  immense  hospitals.  As  will 
be  seen,  it  begins  back  two  years  since,  at  a  very 
gloomy  period  of  the  contest. 


t; 


H 


21 


V.    «!' 


The  Wound  Dresser 


i;. 


II: 


(I' 


I'. 


( 


Began  my  visits  (December  21,  1862)  among 
the  camp  hospitals  in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac, 
under  General  Burnside.  Spent  a  good  part  of  the 
day  in  a  large  brick  mansion  on  the  banks  of  the 
Rappahannock,  immediately  opposite  Fredericks- 
burg. It  is  used  as  a  hospital  since  the  battle, 
and  seems  to  have  received  only  the  worst  cases. 
Outdoors,  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  within  ten  yards 
of  the  front  of  the  house,  I  notice  aheap  of  ampu- 
tated feet,  legs,  arms,  hands,  etc.  —  about  a  load 
for  a  one-horse  cart.  Several  dead  bodies  lie 
near,  each  covered  with  its  brown  woollen 
blanket.  In  the  dooryard,  toward  the  river,  are 
fresh  graves,  mostly  of  officers,  their  names  on 
pieces  of  barrel  staves  or  broken  board,  stuck  in 
the  dirt.  (Most  of  these  bodies  were  subse- 
quently taken  up  and  transported  North  to  their 
friends.) 

The  house  is  quite  crowded,  everything  im- 
promptu, no  system,  all  bad  enough,  but  I  have 
no  doubt  the  best  that  can  be  done  ;  all  the  wounds 
pretty  bad,  some  frightful,  the  nen  in  their 
old  clothes,  unclean  and  bloody.  Some  of  the 
wounded  are  rebel  officers,  prisoners.  One,  a 
Mississippian  —  a  captain  —  hit  badly  in  the  leg, 
I  talked  with  some  time ;  he  asked  me  for  papers, 
which  I  gave  him.  (I  saw  him  three  months 
afterward  in  Washington,  with  leg  amputated, 
doing  well.) 

I  went  through  the  rooms,  down  stairs  and  up. 
Some  of  the  men  were  dying.  I  had  nothing 
to  give  at  that  visit,  but  wrote  a  few  letters  to 

22 


^1 


Hospital  Visits 

folks  home,  mothers,  etc.  Also  talked  to  thr  i 
or  four  who  seemed  most  susceptible  to  it,  an  . 
needing  it. 

December  22  to  31. — Am  among  the  regi- 
mental brigade  and  division  hospitals  somewhat. 
Few  at  home  realize  that  these  are  merely  tents, 
and  sometimes  very  poor  ones,  the  wounded 
lying  on  the  ground,  lucky  if  their  blanket  is 
spread  on  a  layer  of  pine  or  hemlock  twigs,  or 
some  leaves.  No  cots ;  seldom  even  a  mattress 
on  the  ground.  It  is  pretty  cold.  I  go  around 
from  one  case  to  another.  I  do  not  see  that  I 
can  do  any  good,  but  I  cannot  leave  them.  Once 
in  a  while  some  youngster  holds  on  to  me  con- 
vulsively, and  I  do  what  I  can  for  him ;  at  any 
rate  stop  with  him,  and  sit  near  him  for  hours, 
if  he  wishes  it. 

Besides  the  hospitals,  I  also  go  occasionally  on 
long  tours  through  the  camps,  talking  with  the 
men,  etc. ;  sometimes  at  night  among  the  groups 
around  the  fires,  in  their  shebang  enclosures  of 
bushes.  I  soon  get  acquainted  anywhere  in  camp 
with  officers  or  men,  and  am  always  well  used. 
Sometimes  I  go  down  on  picket  with  the  regi- 
ments I  know  best. 

As  to  rations,  the  army  here  at  present  seems 
to  be  tolerably  well  supplied,  and  the  men  have 
enough,  such  as  it  is.  Most  of  the  regiments 
lodge  in  the  flimsy  little  shelter  tents.  A  few 
have  built  themselves  huts  of  logs  and  mud,  with 
fireplaces. 

I  might  give  a  long  list  of  special  cases,  inter- 

23 


fi 


M 


ii 


\\ 


'I 


II 


The  Wound   Dresser 

esting  items  of  the  wounded  men  here,  but  have 
not  space. 

Left  Falmouth,  January,  1863,  by  Aquia  creek 
railroad,  and  so  on  Government  steamer  up  the 
Potomac.  Many  wounded  were  with  us  on  cars 
and  boat.  The  cars  were  just  common  platform 
ones.  The  railroad  journey  of  ten  or  twelve 
miles  was  made  mostly  before  sunrise.  The  sol- 
diers guarding  the  road  came  out  from  their  tents 
or  shebangs  of  bushes  with  rumpled  hair  and  half- 
awake  look.  Those  on  duty  were  walking  their 
posts,  some  on  banks  over  us,  others  down  far 
below  the  level  of  the  track.  I  saw  large  cavalry 
camps  off  the  road.  At  Aquia  Creek  Landing 
were  numbers  of  wounded  going  North.  While 
I  waited  some  three  hours,  I  went  around  among 
them.  Several  wanted  word  sent  home  to  parents, 
brothers,  wives,  etc.,  which  I  did  for  them  (by 
mail  the  next  day  from  Washington).  On  the 
boat  I  had  my  hands  full.  One  poor  fellow  died 
going  up. 

Am  now  (January,  February,  etc.,  1863)  in 
and  around  Washington,  daily  visiting  the  hospi- 
tals. Am  much  in  Campbell,  Patent-office, 
Eighth-street,  H-street,  Armory-square,  and 
others.  Am  now  able  to  do  a  little  good,  hav- 
ing money  (as  almoner  of  others  home),  and 
getting  experience.  I  would  like  to  give  lists 
of  cases,  for  there  is  no  end  to  the  interesting 
ones ;  but  it  is  impossible  without  making  a  large 
volume,  or  rather  several  volumes.  I  must,  there- 
fore, let  one  or  two  days*  visits  at  this  time  suffice 

24 


:  have 

I  creek 
jp  the 
n  cars 
atform 
twelve 
le  sol- 
r  tents 
A  half- 
g  their 
wn  far 
cavalry 
.anding 
While 
among 
parents, 
em  (by 
On  the 
DW  died 


Hospital   Visits 

as  specimens  of  scores  and  hundreds  of  subsequent 
ones,  through  the  ensuing  spring,  summer,  and 
fall,  and,  indeed,  down  to  the  present  week. 

Sunday,  January  25.  —  Afternoon  and  till  9  in 
the  evening,  visited  Campbell  hospital.  Attended 
specially  to  one  case  in  Ward  1,  very  sick  with 
pleurisy  and  typhoid  fever,  young  man,  farmer's 
son  —  D.  F.  R  -issell,  Company  K,  Sixtieth  New 
York  —  down-hearted  and  feeble;  a  long  time 
before  he  would  take  any  interest;  soothed  and 
cheered  him  gently  ;  wrote  a  letter  home  to  his 
mother,  in  Malone,  Franklin  county,  N.  Y.,  at  his 
request ;  gave  him  some  fruit  and  one  or  two  other 
gifts  ;  enveloped  and  directed  his  letter,  etc.  Then 
went  thoroughly  through  Ward  6  ;  observed  every 
case  in  the  ward  (without,  I  think,  missing  one) ; 
found  some  cases  I  thought  needed  little  sums  of 
money ;  supplied  them  (sums  of  perhaps  thirty, 
twenty-five,  twenty,  or  fifteen  cents) ;  distributed 
a  pretty  bountiful  supply  of  cheerful  reading 
matter,  and  gave  perhaps  some  twenty  to  thirty 
persons,  each  one  some  little  gift,  such  as  oranges, 
apples,  sweet  crackers,  figs,  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

Thursday,  January  29. —  Devoted  the  main 
part  of  the  day,  from  11  to  3.30  o'clock,  to 
Armory-square  hospital ;  went  pretty  thoroughly 
through  Wards  F,  G,  H,  and  I  —  some  fifty 
cases  in  each  ward.  In  Ward  H  supplied  the 
men  throughout  with  writing  paper  and  a 
stamped  envelope  each,  also  some  cheerful  read- 
ing matter;  distributed  in  small  portions,  about 
half  of  it   in   this   ward,  to   proper  subjects,    a 

25 


I  11 


t 


n  •' 


I 

\ '»«. 


iil< 


1 


!  I 


ri 


1  * 
t  i 


It 


ii^ 


The  Wound   Dresser 

large  jar  of  first-rale  preserved  berries  ;  also  other 
small  gifts.  In  Wards  G,  H,  and  I,  found  sev- 
eral cases  I  thought  good  subjects  for  small  sums 
of  money,  which  I  furnished  in  each  case.  The 
poor  wounded  men  often  come  up  "dead  broke," 
and  it  helps  their  spirits  to  have  even  the  small 
sum  I  give  them.  My  paper  and  envelopes  all 
gone,  but  distributed  a  good  lot  of  amusing  read- 
ing matter ;  also,  as  I  thought  judicious,  tobacco, 
oranges,  apples,  etc.  Some  very  interesting  cases 
in  Ward  I  :  Charles  Miller,  Bed  No.  19,  Com- 
pany D,  Fifty-third  Pennsylvania,  is  only  sixteen 
years  of  age,  very  bright^  courageous  boy,  left  leg 
amputated  below  the  knee;  next  bed  below  him, 
young  lad  very  sick  —  gave  the  two  each  appro- 
priate gifts;  in  the  bed  above  also  amputation  of  the 
left  leg  —  gave  him  a  part  of  a  jar  of  raspberries ; 
Bed  No.  I,  this  ward,  gave  a  small  sum  also ;  also 
to  a  soldier  on  crutches,  sitting  on  his  bed  near. 

Evening,  same  day. — Went  to  see  D.  F.  R., 
Campbell  hospital,  before  alluded  to ;  found  him 
remarkably  changed  for  the  better  —  up  and 
dressed  (quite  a  triumph ;  he  afterwards  got  well 
and  went  back  to  his  regiment).  Distributed  in 
the  wards  a  quantity  of  note-paper  and  forty  or 
fifty,  mostly  paid,  envelopes,  of  which  the  men 
were  much  in  need ;  also  a  four-pound  bag  of 
gingersnaps  I  bought  at  a  baker's  in  Seventh 
street. 

Here  Is  a  case  of  a  soldier  I  found  among  the 

crowded  cots  in  the  Patent  hospital  —  (they  have 

removed  most  of  the  men  of  late  and  broken  up 

26 


wo 


'1  .'1 

t;    .     ill 


\ 


m 


Hospital  Visits 

that  hospital).  He  likes  to  have  some  one  to 
talk  to,  and  we  will  listen  to  him.  He  got  badly- 
wounded  in  the  leg  and  side  at  Fredericksburg 
that  eventful  Saturday,  13th  December.  He  lay 
the  succeeding  two  days  and  nights  helpless  on 
the  field,  between  the  city  and  those  grim  batteries, 
for  his  company  and  his  regiment  had  been  com- 
pelled to  leave  him  to  his  fate.  To  make  matters 
worse,  he  lay  with  his  head  slightly  down  hill,  and 
could  not  help  himself-  At  the  end  of  some 
fifty  hours  he  was  brought  off^  with  other  wounded, 
under  a  flag  of  truce. 

We  ask  him  how  the  Rebels  treated  him  during 
those  two  days  and  nights  within  reach  or 
them  —  whether  they  came  to  him  —  whether 
they  abused  him  ?  He  answers  that  several  of 
the  Rebels,  soldiers  and  others,  came  to  him,  at 
one  time  and  another.  A  couple  of  them,  who 
were  together,  spoke  roughly  and  sarcastically,  but 
did  no  act.  One  middle-aged  man,  however,  who 
seemed  to  be  moving  around  the  field  among  the 
dead  and  wounded  for  benevolent  purposes,  came 
to  him  in  a  way  he  will  never  forget.  This  man 
treated  our  soldier  kindly,  bound  up  his  wounds, 
cheered  him,  gave  him  a  couple  of  biscuits  gave 
him  a  drink  of  whiskey  and  water,  asked  him  if 
he  could  eat  some  beef.  This  good  Secesh,  how- 
ever, did  not  change  our  soldier's  position,  for  it 
might  have  caused  the  blood  to  burst  from  the 
wounds  where  they  were  clotted  and  stagnated. 
Our  soldier  is  from  Pennsylvania ;  has  had  a 
pretty  severe  time ;  the  wounds  proved  to  be  bad 

27 


if 
1 


I  IF! 


f 


The  Wound   Dresser 


i' 


ones.  But  he  retains  a  good  heart,  and  is  at 
present  on  the  gain. 

It  is  not  uncommon  for  the  men  to  remain  on 
the  field  this  way,  one,  two,  or  even  four  or  five 
days. 

I  continue  among  the  hospitals  during  March, 
April,  etc.,  without  intermission.  My  custom  is 
to  go  through  a  ward,  or  a  collection  of  wards, 
endeavoring  to  give  some  trifle  to  each,  without 
missing  any.  Even  a  sweet  biscuit,  a  sheet  of 
paper,  or  a  passing  word  of  friendliness,  or  but 
a  look  or  nod,  if  no  more.  In  this  way  I  go 
through  large  numbers  without  delaying,  yet  do 
not  hurry.  I  find  out  the  general  mood  of  the 
ward  at  the  time ;  sometimes  see  that  there  is 
a  heavy  weight  of  listlessness  prevailing,  and 
the  whole  ward  wants  cheering  up.  I  perhaps 
read  to  the  men,  to  break  the  spell,  calling 
them  around  me,  careful  to  sit  away  from  the  cot 
of  any  one  who  is  very  bad  with  sickness  or 
wounds.  Also  I  find  out,  by  going  through  in 
this  way,  the  cases  that  need  special  attention, 
and  can  then  devote  proper  time  to  them.  Of 
course  I  am  very  cautious,  among  the  patients,  in 
giving  them  food.  I  always  confer  with  the  doc- 
tor, or  find  out  from  the  nurse  or  ward-master 
about  a  new  case.  But  I  soon  get  sufficiently 
familiar  with  what  is  to  be  avoided,  and  learn 
also  to  judge  almost  intuitively  what  is  best. 

I  do  a  good  deal  of  writing  letters  by  the  bed- 
side, of  course  —  writing  all  kinds,  including  love 

letters.     Many  sick  and  wounded  soldiers  have 

28 


not 

eve 

loni 

get 

to  V 

at 

tell. 

proi 


id  is  at 

nain  on 
■  or  five 

March, 

istom  is 

f  wards, 

without 

sheet  of 

or  but 

ly  I  go 

;,  yet  do 

d  of  the 

there  is 

ng,    and 

perhaps 

calling 

the  cot 

iness  or 

ough  in 

tention, 

m.     Of 

ents,  in 

he  doc- 

-master 

iciently 

d  learn 

best. 

he  bed- 

;  love 

s  have 


Hospital  Visits 

not  written  home  to  parents,  brothers,  sisters,  and 
even  wives,  for  one  reason  or  another,  for  a  long, 
long  time.  Some  are  poor  writers ;  some  cannot 
get  paper  and  envelopes ;  many  have  an  aversion 
to  writing,  because  they  dread  to  worry  the  folks 
at  home — the  facts  about  them  are  so  sad  to 
tell.  I  always  encourage  the  men  to  write,  and 
promptly  write  for  them. 

As  I  write  this,  in  May,  1863,  the  wounded 
have  begun  to  arrive  from  Hooker's  command, 
from  bloody  Chancellorsville.  I  was  down  among 
the  first  arrivals.  The  men  in  charge  of  them 
told  me  the  bad  cases  were  yet  to  come.  If  that 
is  so,  I  pity  them,  for  these  are  bad  enough. 
You  ought  to  see  the  scene  of  the  wounded 
arriving  at  the  landing  here,  foot  of  Sixth  street, 
at  night.  Two  boat-loads  came  about  half-past 
seven  last  night.  A  little  after  eight  it  rained, 
a  long  and  violent  shower.  The  poor,  pale, 
helpless  soldiers  had  been  debarked,  and  lay 
around  on  the  wharf  and  neighborhood,  any- 
where. The  rain  was,  probably,  grateful  to 
them ;  at  any  rate  they  vere  exposed  to  it. 

The  few  torches  light  up  the  spectacle.  All 
around  on  the  wharf,  on  the  ground,  out  on  side 
places,  etc.,  the  men  are  lying  on  blankets,  old 
quilts,  etc.,  with  the  bloody  rags  bound  around 
their  heads,  arms,  legs,  etc.  The  attendants  are 
few,  and  at  night  few  outsiders  also  —  only  a 
few  hard-worked  transportation  men  and  drivers. 
(The  wounded  are  getting  to  be  common,  and 
people  grow  callous.)     The  men,  whatever  their 

29 


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II 


.  i 


:■;/ 


II.  < 


The  Wound   Dresser 

condition,  lie  there  and  patiently  wait  till  their 
turn  comes  to  be  taken  up.  Near  by  the  ambu- 
lances are  now  arriving  in  clusters,  and  one  after 
another  is  called  to  back  up  and  take  its  load. 
Extreme  cases  are  sent  off  on  stretchers.  The 
men  generally  make  little  or  no  ado,  whatever 
their  sufferings  —  a  few  groans  that  cannot  be 
repressed,  and  occasionally  a  scream  of  pain  as 
they  lift  a  man  into  the  ambulance. 

To-day,  as  I  write,  hundreds  more  are  ex- 
pected ;  and  to-morrow  and  the  next  day  more, 
and  so  on  for  many  days. 

The  soldiers  are  nearly  all  young  men,  and 
far  more  Americans  than  is  generally  supposed 
—  I  should  say  nine  tenths  are  native  born. 
Among  the  arrivals  from  Chancellorsville  I  find 
a  large  proportion  of  Ohio,  Indiana,  and  Illinois 
men.  As  usual  there  are  all  sorts  of  wounds. 
Some  of  the  men  are  fearfully  burnt  from  the  ex- 
plosion of  artillery  caissons.  One  ward  has  a 
long  row  of  officers,  some  with  ugly  hurts.  Yes- 
terday was  perhaps  worse  than  usual :  amputa- 
tions are  going  on  ;  the  attendants  are  dressing 
wounds.  As  you  pass  by  you  must  be  on  your 
guard  where  you  look.  I  saw,  the  other  day,  a 
gentleman,  a  visitor,  apparently  from  curiosity,  in 
one  of  the  wards,  stop  and  turn  a  moment  to 
look  at  an  awful  wound  they  were  probing,  etc. ; 
he  turned  pale,  and  in  a  moment  more  he  had 
fainted  away  and  fallen  on  the  floor. 

I    buy,    during    the    hot    weather,    boxes    of 

oranges  from  time  to  time,  and  distribute  them 

30 


Hospital   Visits 

among  the  men ;  also  preserved  peaches  and 
other  fruits ;  also  lemons  and  sugar  for  lemon- 
ade. Tobacco  is  also  much  in  demand.  Large 
numbers  of  the  men  come  up,  as  usual,  without  a 
cent  of  money.  Through  the  assistance  of  friends 
in  Brooklyn  and  Boston,  I  am  again  able  to  help 
many  of  those  that  fall  in  my  way.  It  is  only  a 
small  sum  in  each  case,  but  it  is  much  to  them. 
As  before,  I  go  around  daily  and  talk  with  the 
men,  to  cheer  them  up. 

My  note-books  are  full  of  memoranda  of  the 
cases  of  this  summer,  and  the  wounded  from 
Chancellorsville,  but  space  forbids  my  transcrib- 
ing them. 

As  I  sit  writing  this  paragraph  (sundown, 
Thursday,  June  25)  I  see  a  train  of  about  thirty 
huge  four-horse  wagons,  used  as  ambulances, 
filled  with  wounded,  passing  up  Fourteenth 
street,  on  their  way,  probably,  to  Columbian, 
Carver,  and  Mount  Pleasant  hospitals.  This 
is  the  way  the  men  come  in  now,  seldom  in  small 
numbers,  but  almost  always  in  these  long,  sad 
processions.  Through  the  past  winter,  while  our 
army  lay  opposite  Fredericksburg,  the  like  strings 
of  ambulances  were  of  frequent  occurrence  along 
Seventh  street,  passing  slowly  up  from  the  steam- 
boat wharf,  from  Aquia  creek. 

This  afternoon,  July  22,  1863,  I  spent  a  long 
time  with  a  young  man  I  have  been  with  consider- 
able, named  Oscar  F.  Wilber,  Company  G,  One 
Hundred  Fifty-fourth  New  York,  low  with 
chronic   diarrhoea   and  a  bad  wound  also.     He 

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The  Wound  Dresser 

asked  me  to  read  him  a  chapter  in  the  New 
Testament.  I  complied  and  asked  him  what  I 
should  read.  He  said,  "  Make  your  own  choice." 
I  opened  at  the  close  of  one  of  the  first  books  of 
the  Evangelists,  and  read  the  chapters  describing 
the  latter  hours  of  Christ  and  the  scenes  at  the 
crucifixion.  The  poor  wasted  young  man  asked 
me  to  read  the  following  chapter  also,  how  Christ 
rose  again.  I  read  very  slowly,  for  Oscar  was 
feeble.  It  pleased  him  very  much,  yet  the  tears 
were  in  his  eyes.  He  asked  me  if  I  enjoyed 
religion.  I  said,  "  Perhaps  not,  my  dear,  in  the 
way  you  mean,  and  yet  may-be  it  is  the  same 
thing.**  He  said,  "  It  is  my  chief  reliance.** 
He  talked  of  death,  and  said  he  did  not  fear  it. 
I  said,  "  Why,  Oscar,  don't  you  think  you  will 
get  well  ?  **  He  said,  "  I  may,  but  it  is  not 
probable.**  He  spoke  calmly  of  his  condition. 
The  wound  was  very  bad ;  it  discharged  much. 
Then  the  diarrhoea  had  prostrated  him,  and  I  felt 
that  he  was  even  then  the  same  as  dying.  He 
behaved  very  manly  and  affectionate.  The  kiss 
I  gave  him  as  I  was  about  leaving,  he  returned 
fourfold.  He  gave  me  his  mother's  address, 
Mrs.  Sally  D.  Wilber,  Alleghany  post-office, 
Cattaraugus  county,  N.  Y.  I  had  several  such 
interviews  with  him.  He  died  a  few  days  after 
the  one  just  described. 

August,  September,  October,  etc.  —  I  continue 
among  the  hospitals  in  the  same  manner,  get- 
ting still  more  experience,  and  daily  and  nightly 
meeting  with  most  interesting  cases.     Through 

$2 


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Hospital  Visits 

the  winter  of  1863-4,  the  same.  The  work  of 
the  army  hospital  visitor  is  indeed  a  trade, 
an  art,  requiring  both  experience  and  natural 
gifts,  and  the  greatest  judgment.  A  large 
number  of  the  visitors  to  the  hospitals  do  no 
good  at  all,  while  many  do  harm.  The  sur- 
geons have  great  trouble  from  them.  Some 
visitors  go  from  curiosity  —  as  to  a  show  of 
animals.  Others  give  the  men  improper  things. 
Then  there  are  always  some  poor  fellows,  in  the 
crises  of  sickness  or  wounds,  that  imperatively 
need  perfect  quiet  —  not  to  be  talked  to  by 
strangers.  Few  realize  that  it  is  not  the  mere 
giving  of  gifts  that  does  good ;  it  is  the  proper 
adaption.  Nothing  is  of  any  avail  among  the 
soldiers  except  conscientious  personal  investiga- 
tion of  cases,  each  for  itself;  with  sharp,  critical 
faculties,  but  in  the  fullest  spirit  of  human  sym- 
pathy and  boundless  love.  The  men  feel  such 
love  more  than  anything  else.  I  have  met  very 
few  persons  who  realize  the  importance  of  humor- 
ing the  yearnings  for  love  and  friendship  of  these 
American  young  men,  prostrated  by  sickness  and 
wounds. 

February,  1864.  —  I  ^-^  down  at  Culpepper 
and  Brandy  station,  among  the  camp  of  First, 
Second,  and  Third  Corps,  and  going  through  the 
division  hospitals.  The  condition  of  the  camps 
here  this  winter  is  immensely  improved  from  last 
winter  near  Falmouth.  All  the  army  is  now  in 
huts  of  logs  and  mud,  with  fireplaces  ;  and  the 
food  is  plentiful  and  tolerably  good.  In  the 
3  33 


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The  Wound   Dresser 

camp  hospitals  I  find  diarrhcEa  more  and  more 
prevalent,  and  in  chronic  form.  It  is  at  present 
the  great  disease  of  the  army.  I  think  the  doctors 
generally  give  too  much  medicine,  oftener  mak- 
ing things  worse.  Then  they  hold  on  to  the 
cases  in  camp  too  long.  When  the  disease  Is  al- 
most fixed  beyond  remedy,  they  send  it  up  to 
Washington.  Alas  !  how  many  such  wrecks  have 
I  seen  landed  from  boat  and  railroad  and  de- 
posited In  the  Washington  hospitals,  mostly  but 
to  linger  awhile  and  die,  after  being  kept  at  the 
front  too  long. 

The  hospitals  In  front,  this  winter,  are  also 
much  Improved.  The  men  have  cots,  and  often 
wooden  floors,  and  the  tents  arj  well  warmed. 

March  and  April,  1864. —  Back  again  In 
Washington.     They  are   breaking  up  the  camp 

Meade's  army,  preparing  for  a 
write  this,  in  March,  there  are 
Yesterday  and  last  night  the 
sick  were  arriving  here  in  long  trains,  all  day 
and  night.  I  was  among  the  new-comers  most 
of  the  night.  One  train  of  a  thousand  came 
into  the  depot,  and  others  followed.  The  ambu- 
lances were  going  all  night,  distributing  them  to 
the  various  hospitals  here.  When  they  come  in, 
some  literally  in  a  dying  condition,  you  may  well 
imagine  it  Is  a  lamentable  sight.  I  hardly  know 
which  Is  worse,  to  see  the  wounded  after  a  battle, 
or  these  wasted  wrecks. 

I  remain  in  capital  health  and  strength,  and  go 
every  day,  as  before,  among  the  men,  in  my  own 

34 


hospitals     m 

move.     As    I 

all    the    signs 


an 


r 


i\  !. 


Hospital  Visits 

way,  enjoying  my  life  and  occupation  more  than 
I  can  tell. 

Of  the  army  hospitals  now  in  and  around 
Washington,  there  are  thirty  or  forty.  I  am  in 
the  habit  of  going  to  all,  and  to  Fairfax  seminary, 
Alexandria,  and  over  Long  Bridge  to  the  con- 
valescent camp,  etc.  As  a  specimen  of  almost 
any  one  of  these  hospitals,  fancy  to  yourself  a 
space  of  three  to  twenty  acres  of  ground,  on 
which  are  grouped  ten  or  twelve  very  large 
wooden  barracks,  with,  perhaps,  a  dozen  or  twenty, 
and  sometimes  more  than  that  number,  of  small 
buildings,  capable  all  together  of  accommodating 
from  five  hundred  to  a  thousand  or  fifteen  hun- 
dred persons.  Sometimes  these  large  wooden 
barracks,  or  wards,  each  of  them,  perhaps,  from 
a  hundred  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  long,  are 
arranged  in  a  straight  row,  evenly  fronting  the 
street ;  others  are  planned  so  as  to  form  an  im- 
mense V ;  and  others  again  arranged  around  a 
hollow  square.  They  make  all  together  a  huge 
cluster,  with  the  additional  tents,  extra  wards  for 
contagious  diseases,  guard-houses,  sutler's  stores, 
chaplain's  house,  etc.  In  the  middle  will  proba- 
bly be  an  edifice  devoted  to  the  offices  of  the  sur- 
geon in  charge  and  the  ward  surgeons,  principal 
attaches,  clerks,  etc.  Then  around  this  centre 
radiate  or  are  gathered  the  wards  for  the  wounded 
and  sick. 

These  wards  are  either  lettered  alphabetically, 
Ward  G,  Ward  K,  or  else  numerically,  i,  2,  3,  etc. 
Each  has  its  ward  surgeon  and  corps  of  nurses. 

35 


1: 


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1 1 


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i    |i  i 


HI 


il 


I    I 


IX 


The  Wound   Dresser 


(I  h  ii 


Of  course  there  is,  in  the  aggregate,  quite  a  mus- 
ter of  employees,  and  over  all  the  surgeon  in 
charge.  Any  one  of  these  hospitals  is  a  little 
city  in  itself.  Take,  for  instance,  the  Carver 
hospital,  out  a  couple  of  miles,  on  a  hill,  northern 
part  of  Fourteenth  street.  It  has  more  inmates 
than  an  ordinary  country  town.  The  same  with 
the  Lincoln  hospital,  east  of  the  Capitol,  or  the 
Finley  hospital,  on  high  grounds  northeast  of 
the  city ;  both  large  establishments.  Armory- 
square  hospital,  under  Dr.  Bliss,  in  Seventh 
street  (one  of  the  best  anywhere),  is  also  tem- 
porarily enlarged  this  summer,  with  additional 
tents,  sheds,  etc.  It  must  have  nearly  a  hundred 
tents,  wards,  sheds,  and  structures  of  one  kind 
and  another.  The  worst  cases  are  always  to  be 
found  here.  A  wanderer  like  me  about  Washing- 
ton pauses  on  some  high  land  which  commands 
the  sweep  of  the  city  (one  never  tires  of  the 
noble  and  ample  views  presented  here,  in  the 
generally  fine,  soft,  peculiar  air  and  light),  and 
has  his  eyes  attracted  by  these  white  clusters  of 
barracks  in  almost  every  direction.  They  make 
a  great  show  in  the  landscape,  and  I  often  use 
them  as  landmarks.  Some  of  these  clusters  are 
very  full  of  inmates.  Counting  the  whole,  with 
the  convalescent  camps  (whose  inmates  are  often 
worse  off  than  the  sick  in  the  hospitals),  they  have 
numbered,  in  this  quarter  and  just  down  the 
Potomac,  as  high  as  fifty  thousand  invalid,  dis- 
abled, or  sick  and  dying  men. 

My  sketch  has  already  filled  up  so  much  room 

36 


Hospital  Visits 

that  I  shall  have  to  omit  any  detailed  account 
of  the  wounded  of  May  and  June,  1864,  from 
the  battles  of  the  Wilderness,  Spottsylvania,  etc. 
That  would  be  a  long  history  in  itself.  The 
arrivals,  the  numbers,  and  the  severity  of  the 
wounds,  out-viewed  anything  that  we  have  seen 
before.  For  days  and  weeks  a  melancholy  tide 
set  in  upon  us.  The  weather  was  very  hot.  The 
wounded  had  been  delayed  in  coming,  and  much 
neglected.  Very  many  of  the  wounds  had  worms 
in  them.  An  unusual  proportion  mortified.  It 
was  among  these  that,  for  the  first  time  in  my 
life,  I  began  to  be  prostrated  with  real  sickness, 
and  was,  before  the  close  of  the  summer,  impera- 
tively ordered  North  by  the  physician  to  recu- 
perate and  have  an  entire  change  of  air. 

What  I  know  of  first  Fredericksburg,  Chancel- 
lorsville.  Wilderness,  etc.,  makes  clear  to  me  that 
there  has  been,  and  is  yet,  a  total  lack  of  science 
in  elastic  adaptation  to  the  needs  of  the  wounded 
after  a  battle.  The  hospitals  are  long  afterward 
filled  with  proofs  of  this. 

I  have  seen  many  battles,  their  results,  but 
never  one  where  there  was  not,  during  the  first 
few  days,  an  unaccountable  and  almost  total  de- 
ficiency of  everything  for  the  wounded  —  appro- 
priate sustenance,  nursing,  cleaning,  medicines, 
stores,  etc.  (I  do  not  say  surgical  attendance, 
because  the  surgeons  cannot  do  more  than  human 
endurance  permits.)  Whatever  pleasant  accounts 
there  may  be  in  the  papers  of  the  North,  this  is 
the  actual  fact.     No  thorough  previous  prepara- 

37 


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The  Wound   Dresser 

tlon,  no  system,  no  foresight,  no  genius.  Always 
plenty  or  stores,  no  doubt,  but  always  miles 
away ;  never  where  they  are  needed,  and  never 
the  proper  application.  Of  all  harrowing  experi- 
ences, none  Is  greater  than  that  of  the  days  follow- 
ing a  heavy  battle.  Scores,  hundreds,  of  the 
noblest  young  men  on  earth,  uncomplaining,  lie 
helpless,  mangled,  faint,  alone,  and  so  bleed  to 
death,  or  die  from  exhaustion,  either  actually 
untouched  at  all,  or  with  merely  the  laying  of 
them  down  and  leaving  them,  when  there  ought 
to  be  means  provided  to  save  them. 

The  reader  has  doubtless  inferred  the  fact  that 
my  visits  among  the  wounded  and  sick  have  been 
as  an  independent  missionary,  in  my  own  style, 
and  not  as  an  agent  of  any  commission.  Several 
noble  women  and  men  of  Brooklyn,  Boston, 
Salem,  and  Providence,  have  voluntarily  supplied 
funds  at  times.  I  only  wish  they  could  see  a 
tithe  of  the  actual  work  performed  by  their  gener- 
ous and  benevolent  assistance  among  the  suffer- 
ing men. 

He  who  goes  among  the  soldiers  with  gifts, 
etc.,  must  beware  how  he  proceeds.  It  is  much 
more  of  an  art  than  one  would  imagine.  They 
are  not  charity-patients,  but  American  young 
men,  of  pride  and  independence.  The  spirit  in 
which  you  treat  them,  and  bestow  your  donations, 
is  just  as  important  as  the  gifts  themselves  ;  some- 
times more  so.  Then  there  is  continual  dis- 
crimination necessary.  Each  case  requires  some 
peculiar  adaptation  to  itself.     It  is  very  impor- 

38 


Li!. 


fe~aLj»i-  ^vum 


Hospital   Visits 

tant  to  slight  nobody  —  not  a  single  case.  Some 
hospital  visitors,  especially  the  women,  pick  out 
the  handsomest  looking  soldiers,  or  have  a  few 
for  their  pets.  Of  course  some  will  attract  you 
more  than  others,  and  some  will  need  more  atten- 
tion than  others ;  but  be  careful  not  to  ignore 
any  patient.  A  word,  a  friendly  turn  of  the  eye 
or  touch  of  the  hand  in  passing,  if  nothing  more. 

One  hot  day  toward  the  middle  of  June  I 
gave  the  inmates  of  Carver  hospital  a  general 
ice-cream  treat,  purchasing  a  large  quantity,  and 
going  around  personally  through  the  wards  to 
see  to  its  distribution. 

Here  is  a  characteristic  scene  In  a  ward  :  It  is 
Sunday  afternoon  (middle  of  summer,  1864),  ^^^^ 
and  oppressive,  and  very  silent  through  the  ward. 
I  am  taking  care  of  a  critical  case,  now  lying  in  a 
half  lethargy.  Near  where  I  sit  is  a  suffering 
Rebel  from  the  Eighth  Louisiana ;  his  name  is 
Irving.  He  has  been  here  a  long  time,  badly 
wounded,  and  lately  had  his  leg  amputated.  It  is 
not  doing  very  well.  Right  opposite  me  is  a  sick 
soldier  boy  laid  down  with  his  clothes  on,  sleep- 
ing, looking  much  wasted,  his  pallid  face  on  his 
arm.  I  see  by  the  yellow  trimming  on  his  jacket 
that  he  is  a  cavalry  boy.  He  looks  so  handsome 
as  he  sleeps,  one  must  needs  go  nearer  to  him. 
I  step  softly  over,  and  find  by  his  card  that  he  is 
named  William  Cone,  of  the  First  Maine  Cavalry, 
and  his  folks  live  in  Skowhegan. 

Well,  poor  John  Mahay  is  dead.  He  died 
yesterday.     His  was  a  painful  and  lingering  case. 

39 


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The  Wound   Dresser 

I  have  been  with  him  at  times  for  the  past  fifteen 
months.  He  belonged  to  Company  A,  One 
Hundred  and  First  New  York,  and  was  shot 
through  the  lower  region  of  the  abdomen  at 
second  Bull  Run,  August,  1862.  One  scene  at 
his  bedside  will  suffice  for  the  agonies  of  nearly 
two  years.  The  bladder  had  been  perforated  by 
a  bullet  going  entirely  through  him.  Not  long 
since  I  sat  a  good  part  of  the  morning  by  his 
bedside.  Ward  E,  Armory-square ;  the  water  ran 
out  of  his  eyes  from  the  intense  pain,  and  the 
muscles  of  his  face  were  distorted,  but  he  utters 
nothing  except  a  low  groan  now  and  then.  Hot 
moist  cloths  were  applied,  and  relieved  him  some- 
what. Poor  Mahay,  a  mere  boy  in  age,  but  old 
in  misfortune,  he  never  knew  the  love  of  parents, 
was  placed  in  his  infancy  in  one  of  the  New  York 
charitable  institutions,  and  subsequently  bound 
out  to  a  tyrannical  master  in  Sullivan  county 
(the  scars  of  whose  cowhide  and  club  remained 
yet  on  his  back).  His  wound  here  was  a  most 
disagreeable  one,  for  he  was  a  gentle,  cleanly, 
and  affectionate  boy.  He  found  friends  in  his 
hospital  life,  and,  indeed,  was  a  universal  favorite. 
He  had  quite  a  funeral  ceremony. 

Through  Fourteenth  street  to  the  river,  and 
then  over  the  long  bridge  and  some  three  miles 
beyond,  is  the  huge  collection  called  the  conva- 
lescent camp.  It  is  a  respectable  sized  army  in 
itself,  for  these  hospitals,  tents,  sheds,  etc.,  at 
times   contain   from   five   to   ten   thousand  men. 

Of  course  there  are   continual   changes.     Large 

40 


r 


Hospital  Visits 

squads  are  sent  off  to  their  regiments  or  elsewhere, 
and  new  men  received.  Sometimes  I  found  large 
numbers  of  paroled  returned  prisoners  here. 

During  October,  November,  and  December, 
1864,  I  have  visited  the  military  hospitals  about 
New  York  City,  but  have  not  room  in  this  ar- 
ticle to  describe  these  visits. 

I  have  lately  been  (November  25)  in  the 
Central-park  hospital,  near  One  Hundred  and 
Fourth  street ;  it  seems  to  be  a  well-managed  in- 
stitution. During  September,  and  previously, 
went  many  times  to  the  Brooklyn  city  hospital, 
in  Raym.ond  street,  where  I  found  (taken  in  by 
contract)  a  number  of  wounded  and  sick  from  the 
army.  Most  of  the  men  were  badly  off,  and 
without  a  cent  of  money,  many  wanting  tobacco. 
I  supplied  them,  and  a  few  special  cases  with 
delicacies ;  also  repeatedly  with  letter-paper, 
stamps,  envelopes,  etc.,  writing  the  addresses 
myself  plainly  —  (a  pleased  crowd  gathering 
around  me  as  I  directed  for  each  one  in  turn.) 
This  Brooklyn  hospital  is  a  bad  place  for  soldiers, 
or  anybody  else.  Cleanliness,  proper  nursing, 
watching,  etc.,  are  more  deficient  than  in  any 
hospital  I  know.  For  dinner  on  Sundays  I  in- 
variably found  nothing  but  rice  and  molasses. 
The  men  all  speak  well  of  Drs.  Yale  and  Kissam 
for  kindness,  patience,  etc.,  and  I  think,  from 
what  I  saw,  there  are  also  young  medical  men. 
In  its  management  otherwise,  this  is  the  poor':^st 
hospital  I  have  been  in,  out  of  many  hundreds. 

Among   places,    apart    from    soldiers',    visited 

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lately  (December  7)  I  must  specially  mention  the 
great  Brooklyn  general  hospital  and  other  public 
institutions  at  Flatbush,  including  the  extensive 
lunatic  asylum,  under  charge  of  Drs.  Chapin 
and  Reynolds.  Of  the  latter  (and  I  presume  I 
might  include  these  county  establishments  gener- 
ally) I  have  deliberately  to  put  on  record  about 
the  profoundest  satisfaction  with  professional  ca- 
pacity, completeness  of  house  arrangements  to 
ends  required,  and  the  right  vital  spirit  animating 
all,  that  I  have  yet  found  in  any  public  curative 
institution  among  civilians. 

In  Washington,  in  camp  and  everywhere,  I 
was  in  the  habit  of  reading  to  the  men.  They 
were  very  fond  of  it,  and  liked  declamatory,  poet- 
ical pieces.  Miles  O'Reilly's  pieces  were  also 
great  favorites.  I  have  had  many  happy  evenings 
with  the  men.  We  would  gather  in  a  large  group 
by  ourselves,  after  supper,  and  spend  the  time  in 
such  readings,  or  in  talking,  and  occasionally  by 
an  amusing  game  called  the  game  of  Twenty 
Questions. 

For  nurses,  middle-aged  women  and  mothers 
of  families  are  best.  I  am  compelled  to  say 
young  ladies,  however  refined,  educated,  and  be- 
nevolent, do  not  succeed  as  army  nurses,  though 
their  motives  are  noble ;  neither  do  the  Catholic 
nuns,  among  these  home-born  American  young 
men.  Mothers  full  of  motherly  feeling,  and 
however  illiterate,  but  bringing  reminiscences  of 
home,  and  with  the  magnetic  touch  of  hands, 
are    the    true    wome.     nurses.       Many   of    the 

42 


Hospital  Visits 

wounded  are  between  fifteen  and  twenty  years 
of  age. 

I  should  say  that  the  Government,  from  my 
observation,  is  always  full  of  anxiety  and  liberality 
toward  the  sick  and  wounded.  The  system  in 
operation  in  the  permanent  hospitals  is  good,  and 
the  money  flows  without  stint.  But  the  details 
have  to  be  left  to  hundreds  and  thousands  of 
subordinates  and  ofllicials.  Among  these,  laziness, 
heartlessness,  gouging,  and  incompetency  are 
more  or  less  prevalent.  Still,  I  consider  the  per- 
manent hospitals,  generally,  well  conducted. 

A  very  large  proportion  of  the  wounded  come 
up  from  the  front  without  a  cent  of  money  in  their 
pockets.  I  soon  discovered  that  it  was  about  the 
best  thing  I  could  do  to  raise  their  spirits  and 
show  them  that  somebody  cared  for  them,  and 
practically  felt  a  fatherly  or  brotherly  interest  in 
them,  to  give  them  small  sums,  in  such  cases, 
using  tact  an       ^jcretion  about  it. 

A  large  majority  of  the  wounds  are  in  the  arms 
and  legs.  But  there  is  every  kind  of  wound  in 
every  part  of  the  body.  I  should  say  of  the  sick, 
from  my  experience  in  the  hospitals,  that  the 
prevailing  maladies  are  typhoid  fever  and  the 
camp  fevers  generally,  diarrhoea,  catarrhal  afl^ec- 
tions  and  bronchitis,  rheumatism  and  pneumonia. 
These  forms  of  sickness  lead,  all  the  rest  follow. 
There  are  twice  as  many  sick  as  there  are  wounded. 
The  deaths  range  from  six  to  ten  per  cent  of  those 
under  treatment. 

I   must  bear  my  most  emphatic  testimony   to 

43 


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The  Wound  Dresser 

the  zeal,  manliness,  and  professional  spirit  and 
capacity  generally  prevailing  among  the  surgeons, 
many  of  them  young  men,  in  the  hospitals  and 
the  army.  I  will  not  say  much  about  the  excep- 
tions, for  they  are  few  (but  I  have  met  some  of 
those  few,  and  very  foolish  and  airish  they  were). 
I  never  ceased  to  find  the  best  young  men,  and  the 
hardest  and  most  disinterested  workers,  among 
these  surgeons,  in  the  hospitals.  They  are  full 
of  genius,  too.  I  have  seen  many  hundreds  of 
them,  and  this  is  my  testimony. 

During  my  two  years  in  the  hospitals  and  upon 
the  field,  I  have  made  over  six  hundred  visits, 
and  have  been,  as  I  estimate,  among  from  eighty 
thousand  to  one  hundred  thousand  of  the  wounded 
and  sick,  as  sustainer  of  spirit  and  body  in  some 
slight  degree,  in  their  time  of  need.  These  visits 
varied  from  an  hour  or  two,  to  all  day  or  night ; 
for  with  dear  or  critical  cases  I  watched  all  night. 
Sometimes  I  took  up  my  quarters  Li  the  hospital, 
and  slept  or  watched  there  several  nights  in  suc- 
cession. I  may  add  that  I  am  now  just  resum- 
ing my  occupation  in  the  hospitals  and  camps  for 
the  winter  of  1864-5,  ^^^  probably  to  continue 
the  seasons  ensuing. 

To  many  of  the  wounded  and  sick,  especially 
the  youngsters,  there  is  something  in  personal 
love,  caresses,  and  the  magnetic  flood  of  sym- 
pathy and  friendship,  that  does,  in  its  way,  more 
good  than  all  the  medicine  in  the  world.  I  have 
spoken  of  my  regular  gifts  of  delicacies,  money, 
tobacco,  special  articles   of  food,  knick-knacks, 

44 


in  some 

;se  visits 

r  night; 

11  night. 

lospital, 

in  suc- 

resum- 

mps  for 

ontinue 

pecially 
personal 
)f  sym- 
',  more 
I  have 
money, 
knacks. 


Hospital  Visits 

etc.,  etc.  But  I  steadily  found  more  and  more 
that  I  could  help,  and  turn  the  balance  in  favor 
of  cure,  by  the  means  here  alluded  to,  in  a  curi- 
ously large  proportion  of  cases.  The  American 
soldier  is  full  of  affection  and  the  yearning  for 
affection.  And  it  comes  wonderfully  grateful  to 
him  to  have  this  yearning  gratified  when  he  is 
laid  up  with  painful  wounds  or  illness,  far  away 
from  home,  among  strangers.  Many  will  think 
this  merely  sentimentalism,  but  I  know  it  is  the 
most  solid  of  facts.  I  believe  that  even  the  mov- 
ing around  among  the  men,  or  through  the  ward, 
of  a  hearty,  healthy,  clean,  strong,  generous- 
souled  person,  man  or  woman,  full  of  humanity 
and  love,  sending  out  invisible,  constant  currents 
thereof,  does  immense  good  to  the  sick  and 
wounded. 

To  those  who  might  be  interested  in  knowing 
it,  I  must  add,  in  conclusion,  that  I  have  tried  to 
do  justice  to  all  the  suffering  that  fell  in  my  way. 
While  I  have  been  with  wounded  and  sick  in  thou- 
sands of  cases  from  the  New  England  States,  and 
from  New  York,  New  Jersey,  and  Pennsylvania, 
and  from  Michigan,  Wisconsin,  Indiana,  Illinois, 
and  the  Western  States,  I  have  been  with  more 
or  less  from  all  the  States  North  and  South, 
without  exception.  I  have  been  with  many  from 
the  border  States,  especially  from  Maryland  and 
Virginia,  and  found  far  more  Union  Southerners 
than  is  supposed.  I  have  been  with  many  Rebel 
officers  and  men  among  our  wounded,  and  given 
them  always  what  I  had,  and  tried  to  cheer  them 

45 


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The  Wound  Dresser 

the  same  as  any.  I  have  been  among  the  army 
teamsters  considerably,  and  indeed  always  find 
myself  drawn  to  them.  Among  the  black  sol- 
diers, wounded  or  sick,  and  in  the  contraband 
camps,  I  also  took  my  way  whenever  in  their 
neighborhood,  and  I  did  what  I  coula  for 
them. 

W.  W. 


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From  the  New  York  Times,  December  ii,  1864. 


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Louisa  (Van  Velsor)  Whitman 
From  a  Daguerreotype  taken  about  1855 


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LETTERS   OF    1862-3 


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WASHINGTON,  Monday  forenoon.  Bee.  2g, 
1S62.  Dear,  dear  Mother  —  Friday 
the  19th  inst.  I  succeeded  in  reaching  the  camp 
of  the  51st  New  York,  and  found  George^  alive 
and  well.  In  order  to  make  sure  that  you  would 
get  the  good  news,  I  sent  back  by  messenger 
to  Washington  a  telegraphic  dispatch  (I  dare  say 
you  did  not  get  it  for  some  time)  as  well  as  a  let- 
ter—  and  the  same  to  Hannah^  at  Burlington. 
I  have  staid  in  camp  with  George  ever  since,  till 
yesterday,  when  I  came  back  to  Washington, 
about  the  24th.  George  got  Jeff's^  letter  of  the 
20th.  ivlothcr,  how  much  you  must  have  suf- 
fered, all  that  week,  till  George's  letter  came  — 
and  all  the  rest  must  too.  As  to  me,  I  know  I 
put  in  about  three  days  of  the  greatest  suffering 
I  ever  experienced  in  my  life.  I  wrote  to  JefF 
how  I  had  my  pocket  picked  in  a  jam  and  hurry, 
changing  cars,  at  Philadelphia — so  that  I  landed 
here  without  a  dime.  The  next  two  days  I  spent 
hunting  through  the  hospitals,  walking  day  and 
night,  unable  to  ride,  trying  to  get  information  — 

^  His  brother,  Capt.  (afterwards  Col.)  George  W.  Whitman, 
born   1829,  now   (1897)   residing  in  Burlington,   N.  J. 

"  His  favorite  sister,  Hannah  Louisa  Whitman  (Mrs.  C.  L. 
Heyde),  born  1823,  now  (1897)  residing  in  Burlington,  Vt. 

"  His  brother,  Thomas  Jefferson  Whitman,  born  1833,  died 
1890. 

47 


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The  Wound   Dresser 

trying  to  get  access  to  big  people,  etc.  —  I  could 
not  get  the  least  clue  to  anything.  Odell  would 
not  see  me  at  all.  But  Thursday  afternoon,  I  lit 
on  a  way  to  get  down  on  the  Government  boat  that 
runs  to  Aquia  creek,  and  so  by  railroad  to  the 
neighborhood  of  Falmouth,  opposite  Fredericks- 
burg—  so  by  degrees  I  worked  my  way  to  Fer- 
rero's*  brigade,  which  I  found  Friday  afternoon 
without  much  trouble  after  I  got  in  camp.  When 
I  found  dear  brother  George,  and  found  that  he 
was  alive  and  well,  O  you  may  imagine  how 
trifling  all  my  little  cares  and  diflficulties  seemed 
—  they  vanished  into  nothing.  And  now  that  I 
have  lived  for  eight  or  nine  days  amid  such 
scenes  as  the  camps  furnish,  and  had  a  practical 
part  in  it  all,  and  realize  the  way  that  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  good  men  are  now  living,  and  have 
had  to  live  for  a  year  or  more,  not  only  without 
any  of  the  comforts,  but  with  death  and  sickness 
and  hard  marching  and  hard  fighting  (and  no 
success  at  that)  for  their  continual  experience  — 
really  nothing  we  call  trouble  seems  worth  talk- 
ing about.  One  of  the  first  things  that  met  my 
eyes  in  camp  was  a  heap  of  feet,  arms,  legs,  etc., 
under  a  tree  in  front  of  a  hospital,  the  Lacy 
house. 

George  is  very  well  in  health,  has  a  good  appe- 
tite —  I  think  he   is  at  times  more  wearied  out 

*  Bri^.-Gen.  Edward  Ferrero,  commanding  Second  Brigade, 
Second  Division,  Army  of  the  Potomac,  under  whose  command  the 
5 1  St  Brooklyn  Regiment  fought  at  Fredericksburg.  George  Whit- 
man was  a  captain  in  this  regiment. 

48 


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■'L 


Letters  of  1862-3 

and  homesick  than  he  shows,  but  stands  it  upon 
the  whole  very  well.  Every  one  of  the  soldiers, 
to  a  man,  wants  to  get  home. 

I  suppose  Jeff  got  quite  a  long  letter  I  wrote, 
from  camp,  about  a  week  ago.  1  told  you  that 
George  had  been  promoted  to  captain  —  his  com- 
mission arrived  while  I  was  there.  When  you 
write,  address,  Capt.  George  W.  Whitman,  Co.  K., 
51st  New  York  Volunteers,  Ferrero's  brigade, 
near  Falmouth,  Va.  Jeff  must  write  oftener,  and 
put  in  a  few  lines  from  mother,  even  if  it  is  only 
two  lines  —  then  in  the  next  letter  a  few  lines 
from  Mat,  and  so  on.  You  have  no  idea  how 
letters  from  home  cheer  one  up  in  camp,  and  dis- 
sipate homesickness. 

While  I  was  there  George  still  lived  in  Capt. 
Francis's  tent  —  there  were  five  of  us  altogether, 
to  eat,  sleep,  write,  etc.,  in  a  space  twelve  feet 
square,  but  we  got  along  very  well  —  the  weather 
all  along  was  very  fine  —  and  would  have  got 
along  to  perfection,  but  Capt.  Francis  is  not  a  man 
I  could  like  much  —  I  had  very  little  to  say  to  him. 
George  is  about  building  a  place,  half  hut  and 
half  tent,  for  himself,  (he  is  probably  about  it 
this  very  day,)  and  then  he  will  be  better  off,  I 
think.  Every  captain  has  a  tent,  in  which  he 
lives,  transacts  company  business,  etc.,  has  a  cook, 
(or  a  man  of  all  work,)  and  in  the  same  tent  mess 
and  sleep  his  lieutenants,  and  perhaps  the  first 
sergeant.  They  have  a  kind  of  fire-place  —  and 
the  cook*s  fire  is  outside  on  the  open  ground. 
George  had  very  good  times  while  Francis  was 
4  49 


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The  Wound   Dresser 

away  —  the  cook,  a  young  disabled  soldier,  Tom, 
is  an  excellent  fellow  and  a  first-rate  cook,  and 
the  second  lieutenant,  Pooley,  is  a  tip-top  young 
Pennsylvanian.  Tom  thinks  all  the  world  of 
George  ;  when  he  heard  he  was  wounded,  on 
the  day  of  the  battle,  he  left  everything,  got 
across  the  river,  and  went  hunting  for  George 
through  the  field,  through  thick  and  thin.  I 
wrote  to  JefF  that  George  was  wounded  by  a 
shell,  a  gash  in  the  cheek — you  could  stick  a 
splint  through  into  the  mouth,  but  it  has  healed 
up  without  difficulty  already.  Everything  is  un- 
certain about  the  army,  whether  it  moves  or  stays 
where  it  is.  There  are  no  furloughs  granted  at 
present.  I  will  stay  here  for  the  present,  at  any 
rate  long  enough  to  see  if  I  can  get  any  employ- 
ment at  anything,  and  shall  write  what  luck  I 
have.  Of  course  I  am  unsettled  at  present. 
Dear  mother,  my  love.     Walt. 

If  JefF  or  any  writes,  address  me,  care  of  Ma- 
jor Hapgood,  paymaster,  U.  S.  A.  Army,  Wash- 
ington, D.  C.  I  send  my  love  to  dear  sister 
Mat,*  and  little  Sis^  —  and  to  Andrew^  and  all 


1  Martha,  wife  of  "Jeff."  She  died  in  1873.  "1873.— 
This  year  lost,  by  death,  my  dear  dear  mother  —  and  just  before, 
my  sister  Martha  —  the  two  best  and  sweetest  women  I  have  ever 
seen  or  known,  or  ever  expect  to  see  "  (Walt  Whitman,  *'  Some 
Personal  and  Old  Age  Jottings"). 

2  "Jeft's"  little  daughter,  Mannahatta.      She  died  in  1888. 

*  His  brother,  Andrew  Jackson  Whitman,  bom  1827,  died 
1863.  His  other  brothers  at  this  time,  besides  those  previously 
mentioned,  were  Jesse  Whitman,  born  181 8,  died  1870,  and  Ed- 
ward Whitman,  born  1835,  died  1892. 

50 


\  . 


,  Tom, 
ik,  and 
young 
Drld  of 
ed,  on 

'g>  got 
George 

in.      I 

I    by  a 

stick  a 

healed 
r  is  un- 
)r  stays 
nted  at 
,  at  any 
mploy- 

luck  I 
present. 

of  Ma- 
Wash- 
sister 
nd  all 


1873.— 

before, 
have  ever 
«*Some 

1888. 
[27,   died 
)reviously 

and  Ed- 


I 


Letters  of  1862-3 

my  brothers.  O  Mat,  how  lucky  it  was  you  did 
not  come  —  together,  we  could  never  have  got 
down  to  see  George. 


II 

Washington^  Friday  morning,  Jan,  2,  iS6j, 
Dear  Sister^  —  You  have  heard  of  my  for- 
tunes and  misfortunes  of  course,  (through  my 
letters  to  mother  and  Jeff,)  since  I  left  home 
that  Tuesday  afternoon.  But  I  thought  I  wov 
write  a  few  lines  to  you,  as  it  is  a  comfort  to  wi.tc 
home,  even  if  I  have  nothing  particular  to  say. 
Well,  dear  sister,  I  hope  you  are  well  and  hearty, 
and  that  little  Sis^  keeps  as  well  as  she  always 
had,  when  I  left  home  so  far.  Dear  little  plague, 
how  I  would  like  to  have  her  with  me,  for  one  day ; 
I  can  fancy  I  see  her,  and  hear  her  talk.  Jeff  must 
have  got  a  note  from  me  about  a  letter  I  have  writ- 
ten to  the  Eagle  —  you  may  be  sure  you  will  get 
letters  enough  from  me,  for  I  have  little  else  to  do 
at  present.  Since  I  laid  my  eyes  on  dear  brother 
George,  and  saw  him  alive  and  well  —  and  since 
I  have  spent  a  week  in  camp,  down  there  opposite 
Fredericksburg,  and  seen  what  well  men,  and  sick 
men,  and  mangled  men  endure  —  it  seems  to  me 
I  can  be  satisfied  and  happy  henceforward  if  I 
can  get  one  meal  a  day,  and  know  that  mother 
and  all  are  in  good  health,  and  especially  be  with 

^  Martha. 

^  Mannahatta. 


'    n 


■-.  -  ♦  - 


I 


•3 


':il 


I 


i 


( I 


:!i 


The  Wound   Dresser 

you  again,  and  have  some  little  steady  paying 
occupation  in  N.  Y.  or  Brooklyn. 

I  am  writing  this  in  the  office  of  Major  Hap- 
good,  way  up  in  the  top  of  a  big  high  house,  corner 
of  15th  and  F  street;  there  is  a  splendid  view, 
away  down  south  of  the  Potomac  river,  and 
across  to  the  Georgetown  side,  and  the  grounds 
and  houses  of  Washington  spread  out  beneath 
my  high  point  of  view.  The  weather  is  per- 
fect —  I  have  had  that  in  my  favor  ever  since 
leaving  home  —  yesterday  and  to-day  it  is  bright, 
and  plenty  warm  enough.  The  poor  soldiers  are 
continually  coming  in  from  the  hospitals,  etc.,  to 
get  their  pay  —  some  l:  them  waiting  for  it  to  go 
home.  They  climb  up  here,  quite  exhausted,  and 
then  find  it  is  no  good,  for  there  is  no  money  to 
pay  them  ;  there  are  two  or  three  paymasters' 
desks  in  this  room,  and  the  scenes  of  disappoint- 
ment are  quite  affecting.  Here  they  wait  in 
Washington,  perhaps  week  after  week,  wretched 
and  heart-sick  —  this  is  the  greatest  place  of  de- 
lays and  puttings  off,  and  no  finding  the  clue  to 
anything.  This  building  is  the  paymaster-gen- 
eral's quarters,  and  the  crowds  on  the  walk  and 
corner  of  poor,  sick,  pale,  tattered  soldiers  are 
awful  —  many  of  them  day  after  day  disap- 
pointed and  tired  out.  Well,  Mat,  I  will  suspend 
my  letter  for  the  present,  and  go  through  the  city 
—  I  have  a  couple  of  poor  fellows  in  the  hospital 
to  visit  also.     Walt. 

Saturday  evenings  Jan.  j  [1863.]  I  write  this 
in  the  place  where  I  have  my  lodging-room,  394 

52 


I 


-'L 


Letters  of  1862-3 

L  street,  4th  door  above  14th  street.  A  friend  of 
mine,  William  D.  O'Connor,^  has  two  apartments 
on  the  3  rd  floor,  very  ordinarily  furnished,  for  which 
he  pays  the  ^>;/r^ordinary  price  of  $25  a  month.  I 
have  a  werry  little  bedroom  on  the  2nd  floor.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  O'Connor  and  their  little  girl  have  all 
gone  out  "  down  town  "  for  an  hour  or  two,  to 
make  some  Saturday  evening  purchases,  and  I  am 
left  in  possession  of  the  premises  —  so  I  sit  by  the 
fire,  and  scribble  more  of  my  letter.  I  have  not 
heard  anything  from  dear  brother  George  since  I 
left  the  camp  last  Sunday  morning,  28th  Dec.  I 
wrote  to  him  on  Tuesday  last.  1  wish  to  get  to 
him  the  two  blue  woolen  shirts  Jefl^  sent,  as  they 
would  come  very  acceptable  to  him  —  and  will  try 
to  do  it  yet.  I  think  of  sending  them  by  mail,  if 
the  postage  is  not  more  than  $1. 

Yesterday  I  went  out  to  the  Campbell  hospi- 
tal to  see  a  couple  of  Brooklyn  boys,  of  the  ^ist. 
They  knew  I  was  in  Washington,  and  sent  me  a 
note,  to  come  and  see  them.  O  my  dear  sister, 
how  your  heart  would  ache  to  go  through  the 
rows  of  wounded  young  men,  as  I  did  —  ard 
stopt  to  speak  a  comforting  word  to  them.  Tliere 
were  about  100  in  one  long  room,  just  a  long 
shed  neatly  whitewashed  inside.  One  young  man 
was  very  much    prostrated,   and    groaning    with 

^  William  Douglas  O'Connor,  born  Jan.  2,  1832.  He  was  a 
journalist  in  Boston  in  early  life,  went  to  Washington  abo-it  1861, 
first  as  clerk  in  the  Light  House  Bureau,  and  later  became  Assistant 
Superintendent  of  the  United  States  Life-Saving  Service  j  died  in 
Washington,  May  9,  1889.  He  was  one  of  Whitman's  warmest 
friends,  and  the  author  of  <*  The  Good  Gray  Poet," 

53 


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1 


if 


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i  : 


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: 


Hi 

V 


The  Wound  Dresser 

pain.  I  stopt  and  tried  to  comfort  him.  He 
was  very  sick.  I  found  he  had  not  had  any  med- 
ical attention  since  he  was  brought  there  ;  among 
so  many  he  had  been  overlooked ;  so  I  sent  for 
the  doctor,  and  he  made  an  examination  of  him. 
The  doctor  behaved  very  well  —  seemed  to  be 
anxious  to  do  right  —  said  that  the  young  man 
would  recover ;  he  had  been  brought  pretty  low 
with  diarrhoea,  and  now  had  bronchitis,  but  not 
so  serious  as  to  be  dangerous.  I  talked  to  him 
some  time  —  he  seemed  to  have  entirely  given  up, 
and  lost  heart  —  he  had  not  a  cent  of  money  — 
not  a  friend  or  acquaintance.  I  wrote  a  letter  from 
him  to  his  sister  —  his  name  is  John  A.  Holmes, 
Campello,  Plymouth  county,  Mass.  I  gave  him 
a  little  change  I  had  —  he  said  he  would  like  to  buy 
a  drink  of  milk  when  the  woman  came  through 
with  milk.  Trifling  as  this  was,  he  was  overcome 
and  began  to  cry.  Then  there  were  many,  many 
others.  I  mention  the  one,  as  a  specimen.  My 
Brooklyn  boys  were  John  Lowery,  shot  at  Fred- 
ericksburg, and  lost  his  left  forearm,  and  Amos 
H.  Vliet  —  Jefl^  knows  the  latter  —  he  has  his  feet 
frozen,  and  is  doing  well.  The  loo  are  in  a  ward, 
(6),  and  there  are,  I  should  think,  eight  or  ten 
or  twelve  such  wards  in  the  Campbell  hospital 
—  indeed  a  real  village.  Then  there  are  38  more 
hospitals  here  in  Washington,  some  of  them  much 
larger. 

Sunday  forenoon,  Jan.  4, 186 j.  Mat,  I  hope  and 
trust  dear  mother  and  all  are  well,  and  everything 
goes  on  good  home.     The  envelope  I  send,  Jeff 

5+ 


h-'r 


Letters  of  1862-3 

or  any  of  you  can  keep  for  direction,  or  use  it 
when  wanted  to  write  to  me.  As  near  as  I  can 
tell,  the  army  at  Falmouth  remains  the  same. 
Dear  sister,  good-bye.     Walt. 

I  send  my  love  to  Andrew  and  Jesse  and  Eddy 
and  all.  What  distressing  news  this  is  of  the  loss 
of  the  Monitor.^ 


^ercome 


III 

Washington,  Friday  noon,  February  6,  i86j. 
Dearest  Mother  —  Jeff  must  have  got  a 
letter  from  me  yesterday,  containing  George's 
last  letter.  The  news  of  your  sickness  and  the 
strange  silence  of  Han  made  me  feel  somewhat 
gloomy.  I  wrote  to  George  yesterday,  convey- 
ing the  news  —  and  to-day  I  have  sent  him  an- 
other letter,  with  much  more  comforting  news,  for 
I  was  so  glad  to  hear  from  Han  (her  letter  en- 
closed in  Jeff's  received  this  morning)  that  I 
wrote  him   right  away,  and  sent  Han's  letter. 

Mother,  I  am  quite  in  hopes  George  will  get 
a  furlough  —  may-be  my  expectations  are  un- 
founded, but  I  almost  count  on  it.  I  am  so 
glad  this  morning  to  hear  you  are  no  worse,  but 
changed  for  the  better  —  and  dear  sister  Mat  too, 
and  Sissy,  I  am  so  glad  to  think  they  are  recov- 
ering. Jeff's  enclosure  of  $io  through  Mr. 
Lane,  from  the  young  engineers  for  the  soldiers 

1  The  Monitor  foundered  off  Cape  Hatteras  in  a  gale  Decem- 
ber 29,  1862. 

55 


( ., 


11; 


i;^ 


M-' 


u 


The  Wound   Dresser 

in  hospitals,  the  most  needy  cases,  came  safe  of 
course  —  1  shall  acknowledge  it  to  Mr.  Lane  to- 
morrow. Mother,  I  have  written  so  much  about 
hospitals  that  I  will  not  write  any  in  this  letter. 

We  have  had  bad  weather  enough  here  lately 
to  most  make  up  for  the  delightful  weather  we 
had  for  five  weeks  after  I  came  from  home. 

Mother,  I  do  hope  you  will  be  careful,  and 
not  get  any  relapse  —  and  hope  you  will  go  on 
improving.  Do  you  then  think  of  getting  new 
apartments,  after  the  ist  of  May  ?  I  suppose 
Jeff  has  settled  about  the  lot  —  it  seems  to  me 
first  rate  as  an  investment  —  the  kind  of  house 
to  build  is  quite  a  consideration  (if  any  house). 
I  should  build  a  regular  Irish  shanty  myself — 
two  rooms,  and  an  end  shed.  I  think  that's 
luxury  enough,  since  I  have  been  down  in  the 
army. 

Well,  mother,  I  believe  I  will  not  fill  out  the 
sheet  this  time,  as  I  want  to  go  down  without 
delay  to  the  P.  O.  and  send  George's  letter  and 
this  one.     Good-bye,  dear  mother.     Walt. 


(•: 


J.V 


Washington,  Monday  morning,  Feb,  p,  i86j. 
Dearest  Mother  —  I  write  to  enclose  you  a 
letter  I  have  just  received  from  Georgt.  His 
corps  (Ninth  Army)  and  perhaps  one  other  are 
to  move  either  to  Fort  Monroe,  or  somewhere 
down  there  —  some  say  Suffolk.     I  am  in  hopes 

56 


'j 


t, 


Letters  of  1862-3 

that  when  they  get  there,  George  will  still  have 
a  sight  for  a  furlough.  I  have  written  him  I 
should  think  four  letters  since  the  27th  Jan. 
(and  have  sent  him  Han's  letter  to  you  in  one). 
I  hope  he  has  got  most  of  them  before  this.  I 
am  afraid  the  ;?3  change  I  sent  him  is  gone. 
He  will  write  to  you  as  soon  as  he  gets  settled 
wherever  they  go  to.  I  don't  know  as  it  makes 
any  difference  in  respect  to  danger,  or  fighting, 
from  this  move.  One  reason  they  have  to  move 
from  the  Rappahannock,  up  there,  is  that  wood 
is  all  gone  for  miles,  forage  is  scarce  to  get,  and 
I  don't  know  as  there  is  any  need  of  their  staying 
there,  for  any  purpose.  In  some  haste,  dearest 
mother,  as  I  am  off  to  visit  for  an  hour  or  so,  one 
of  my  hospitals.    Your  affectionate  son,     Walt. 


Office  Major  Hapgood,  cor,  i^th  ^  F  sts,  Wash- 
ington^ Feb.  I  J,  18  6 J,  Dear  Brother  ^  —  Noth- 
ing new ;  still  I  thought  I  would  write  you  a  line 
this  morning.  The  I4,  namely  $2  from  TheoA. 
Drake  and  $1  from  John  D.  Martin,  enclosed  in 
your  letter  of  the  loth,  came  safe.  They  too  will 
please  accept  the  grateful  thanks  of  several  poor 
fellows,  in  hospital  here. 

The  letter  of  introduction  to  Mr.  Webster, 
chief  clerk.  State  department,  will  be  very  ac- 
ceptable.     If    convenient,    I     should    like    Mr. 


i<( 


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The  Wound   Dresser 

Lane  to  send  it  on  immediately,  i  do  not  so 
much  look  for  an  appointment  from  Mr.  Seward 
as  his  backing  me  from  the  State  of  New  York. 
I  have  seen  Preston  King  this  morning  for  the 
second  time  (it  is  very  amusing  to  hunt  for  an 
office  —  so  the  thing  seems  to  me  just  now,  even 
if  one  don't  get  it).  I  have  seen  Charles  Sum- 
ner three  times  —  he  says  ev'ry  thing  here 
moves  as  part  of  a  great  machine,  and  that  I 
must  consign  myself  to  the  fate  of  the  rest  — 
still  [in]  an  interview  I  had  with  him  yesterday 
he  talked  and  acted  as  though  he  had  life  in  him, 
and  would  exert  himself  to  any  reasonable  ex- 
tent for  me  to  get  something.  Meantime  I 
make  about  enough  to  pay  my  expenses  by 
hacking  on  the  press  here,  and  copying  in  the 
paymasters*  offices,  a  couple  of  hours  a  day. 
One  thing  is  favorable  here,  namely,  pay  for 
whatever  one  does  is  at  a  high  rate.  I  have 
not  yet  presented  my  letters  to  either  Seward  or 
Chase  —  I  thought  I  would  get  my  forces  all 
in  a  body,  and  make  one  concentrated  dash,  if 
possible  with  the  personal  introduction  and  pres- 
ence of  some  big  bug.  I  like  fat  old  Preston 
King  very  much  —  he  is  fat  as  a  hogshead,  with 
great  hanging  chops.  The  first  thing  he  said  to 
me  the  other  day  in  the  parlor  chambers  of  the 
Senate,  when  I  sent  in  for  him  and  he  came  out, 
was,  "  Why,  how  can  I  do  this  thing,  or  any 
thing  for  you  —  how  do  I  know  but  you  are  a 
Secessionist  ?  You  look  for  all  the  world  like  an 
old    Southern   planter  —  a   regular   Carolina   or 

58 


Letters  of  1862-3 

Virginia  planter."  I  treated  him  with  just  as 
much  hauteur  as  he  did  me  with  bluntness  — 
this  was  the  first  time  —  it  afterward  proved  that 
Charles  Sumner  had  not  prepared  the  way  for 
me,  as  I  supposed,  or  rather  not  so  strongly  as  I 
supposed,  and  Mr.  King  had  even  forgotten  it  — 
so  I  was  an  entire  stranger.  But  the  same  day  C. 
S.  talked  further  with  Mr.  King  in  the  Senate, 
and  the  second  interview  I  had  with  the  latter 
(this  forenoon)  he  has  given  me  a  sort  of  general 
letter,  endorsing  me  from  New  York  —  one  en- 
velope is  addressed  to  Secretary  Chase,  and  an- 
other to  Gen.  Meigs,  head  Quartermaster's  dcpt. 
Meantime,  I  am  getting  better  and  better  ac- 
quainted with  office-hunting  wisdom  and  Wash- 
ington peculiarities  generally.  I  spent  several 
hours  in  the  Capitol  the  other  day.  The  incred- 
ible gorgeousness  of  some  of  the  rooms,  (inte- 
rior decorations,  etc.)  —  rooms  used  perhaps  but 
for  merely  three  or  four  committee  meetings  in 
the  course  of  the  whole  year  —  is  beyond  one's 
flightiest  dreams.  Costly  frescoes  of  the  style 
of  Taylor's  saloon  in  Broadway,  only  really  the 
best  and  choicest  of  their  sort,  done  by  imported 
French  and  Italian  artists,  are  the  prevailing  sorts. 
(Imagine  the  work  you  see  on  the  fine  china  vases 
in  Tiffany's,  the  paintings  of  Cupids  and  god- 
desses, etc.,  spread  recklessly  over  the  arched  ceil- 
ing and  broad  panels  of  a  big  room  —  the  whole 
floor  underneath  paved  with  tesselated  pavement, 
which  is  a  sort  of  cross  between  marble  and  china, 
with  little  figures,  drab,  blue,  cream   color,  etc.) 

59 


)     ;. 


Ml 


The  Wound   Dresser 

These  things,  with  heavy  elaborately  wrought 
balustrades,  columns,  and  steps  —  all  of  the  most 
beautiful  marbles  I  ever  saw,  some  white  as  milk, 
other  of  all  colors,  green,  spotted,  lined,  or  of 
our  old  chocolate  color — all  these  marbles  used 
as  freely  as  if  they  were  common  blue  flags  — 
with  rich  door-frames  and  window-casings  of 
bronze  and  gold — heavy  chandeliers  and  man- 
tles, and  clocks  in  every  room  —  and  indeed  by 
far  the  richest  and  gayest,  and  most  un-American 
and  inappropriate  ornamenting  and  finest  interior 
workmanship  I  ever  conceived  possible,  spread 
in  profusion  through  scores,  hundreds,  (and  al- 
most thousands)  of  rooms — such  are  what  I 
find,  or  rather  would  find  to  interest  me,  if  I 
devoted  time  to  it.  But  a  few  of  the  rooms  are 
enough  for  me  —  the  style  is  without  grandeur, 
and  without  simplicity.  These  days,  the  state 
our  country  is  in,  and  especially  filled  as  I  am 
from  top  to  toe  of  late  with  scenes  and  thoughts 
of  the  hospitals,  (America  seems  to  me  now, 
though  only  in  her  youth,  but  brought  already 
here,  feeble,  bandaged,  and  bloody  in  hospital)  — 
these  days  I  say,  Jeff,  all  the  poppy-show  god- 
desses, and  all  the  pretty  blue  and  gold  in  which 
the  interior  Capitol  is  got  up,  seem  to  me  out  of 
place  beyond  anything  I  could  tell  —  and  I  get 
away  from  it  as  quick  as  I  can  when  that  kind 
of  thought  comes  over  me.  I  suppose  it  is  to 
be  described  throughout  —  those  interiors  —  as 
all  of  them  got  up  in  the  French  style  —  well, 
enough  for  a  New  York. 

60 


i 


Letters  of  1862-3 

VI 

Washington^  March  ji,  iS6j,  Dearest 
Mother  —  1  have  not  heard  from  George,  ex- 
cept a  note  he  wrote  me  a  couple  of  days  after  he 
got  back  from  his  furlough.  1  think  it  likely 
the  regiment  has  gone  with  its  corps  to  the  West, 
the  Kentucky  or  Tennessee  region  —  Burnside 
at  last  accounts  was  in  Cincinnati.  Well,  it  will 
be  a  change  for  George,  if  he  is  out  there.  1 
sent  a  long  letter  to  Han  last  Saturday  —  enclosed 
George's  note  to  me.  Mother,  when  you  or  Jeff 
writes  again,  tell  me  if  my  papers  and  MSS.  are 
all  right ;  I  should  be  very  sorry  indeed  if  they 
got  scattered,  or  used  up  or  anything  —  especially 
the  copy  of  "  Leaves  of  Grass  "  covered  in  blue 
paper,  and  the  little  MS.  book  "  Drum-Taps,** 
and  the  MS.  tied  up  in  the  square,  spotted  (stone- 
paper)  loose  covers  —  I  want  them  all  carefully 
kept. 

Mother,  it  is  quite  a  snow-storm  here  this 
morning  —  the  ground  is  an  inch  and  a  half  deep 
with  snow  —  and  it  is  snowing  and  drizzling  — 
but  I  feel  very  independent  in  my  stout  army- 
boots  ;    I   go   anywhere.     I   have   felt  quite  well 

^  A  copy  of  the  i860  (first  Boston)  edition  of  **  Leaves  of 
Grass,"  which  Whitman  used  for  preparing  the  next  (1867)  edi- 
tion. From  various  evidence  this  is  the  same  copy,  with  his  MS. 
alterations,  which  Secretary  Harlan  found  in  Whitman's  desk  at 
the  Interior  Department  in  1865,  and  which  he  read  surreptitiously 
before  discharging  the  poet  from  his  position.  It  is  now  in  the 
possession  of  Mr.  Horace  L.  Traubel,  of  Camden,  N.  J. 

The  reference  to  "Drum-Taps,"  published  in  1865,  shows 
that  it  had  already  taken  shape  in  MS. 

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of  my  deafness  and  cold  in  my  head  for  four 
days  or  so,  but  it  is  back  again  bad  as  ever  this 
morning. 

Dear  rrjother,  I  wrote  the  above  in  my  room  — 
I  have  now  come  down  to  Major  Hapgood's 
office.  I  do  not  find  anything  from  home,  and 
no  particular  news  in  the  paper  this  morning  — 
no  news  about  the  Ninth  Army  Corps,  or  where 
they  are.  I  find  a  good  letter  from  one  of  my 
New  York  boys,  (Fifth  avenue)  a  young  fellow 
named  Hugo  Fritsch,  son  of  the  Austrian  Con- 
sul-General  —  he  writes  me  a  long,  first-rate  letter 
this  morning.  He  too  speaks  about  the  Opera  — 
like  Jeff  he  goes  there  a  good  deal  —  says  that 
Medori,  the  soprano,  as  Norma  made  the  great- 
est success  ever  seen  —  says  that  the  whole  com- 
pany there  now,  the  singers,  are  very  fine.  All 
this  I  write  for  Jeff  and  Mat  —  I  hope  they  will 
go  once  in  a  while  when  it  is  convenient. 

It  is  a  most  disagreeable  day  here,  mother, 
walking  poshy  and  a  rain  and  drizzle- 

There  is  nothing  new  with  me,  no  particular 
sight  for  an  office  that  I  can  count  on.  But  I 
can  make  enough  with  the  papers,  for  the  present 
necessities.  I  hear  that  the  paymaster.  Major 
Yard,  that  pays  the  51st,  has  gone  on  West,  I 
suppose  to  Cincinnati,  or  wherever  the  brigade 
has  gone  —  of  course  to  pay  up  —  he  pays  up  to 
1st  of  March  —  all  the  Army  is  going  to  be  paid 
up  to  1st  March  everywhere. 

Mother,   I   hope  you   are   well  and   hearty  as 

usual.     I  am  so  glad  you  are  none  of  you  going 

62 


}/ 


Letters  of  1862—3 

to  move.  I  would  like  to  have  the  pleasure  of 
Miss  Mannahatta  Whitman's  company,  the  first 
fine  fiarenoon,  if  it  were  possible ;  I  think  we 
might  have  first-rate  times,  for  one  day  at  any 
rate.  I  hope  she  will  not  forget  her  Uncle 
Walt.  I  received  a  note  from  Probasco,  re- 
questing me  not  to  put  his  name  in  my  next  letter. 
I  appreciate  his  motive,  and  wish  to  please  him 
always  —  but  in  this  matter  I  shall  do  what  I 
think  appropriate.  Mother,  I  see  some  ve^-y 
interesting  persons  here  —  a  young  master's  mate, 
who  was  on  the  Hatteras,  when  surprised  and 
broadsided  by  the  Alabama,  Capt  Semmes  —  he 
gave  me  a  very  good  acc't  of  it  all  —  then  Capt. 
Mullen,  U.  S.  Army,  (engineer)  who  has  been  six 
years  out  in  the  Rocky  mts.  making  a  Gov't 
road  650  miles  from   Ft.  Benton  to  Walla  Walla 

—  very,  very  interesting  to  know  such  men  inti- 
mately, and  talk  freely  with  them.  Dearest 
mother,  I  shall  have  great  yarns  to  spin,  when  I 
come  home.  I  am  not  a  bit  homesick,  yet  I 
should  like  to  see  you  and  Mat  very,  very  much 

—  one  thinks  of  the  women  when  he  is  away. 

Walt. 
Shall  send  the  shirts  in  a  day  or  two. 


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VII 

Washington^  Wednesday  forenoon^  April  /J,  iS6j, 
Dearest  Mother — Jeff's  letter  of  the  nth, 
acknowledging  the  books,  also  the  one  about 
five  days  previous,  containing  the  J5io  from  Van 

63 


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Anden,  came  safe.  Jeff's  letters  arc  always  first 
rate  and  welcome  —  the  good  long  one  with  so 
much  about  home,  and  containing  Han's  and 
George's,  was  especially  so.  It  is  a  great  pleas- 
ure, though  sometimes  a  melancholy  one,  to  hear 
from  Han,  under  her  own  hand.  I  have  writ  to 
George  —  I  wrote  last  Friday.  I  directed  the 
letter  to  "  Lexington  or  elsewhere,  Kentucky  " — 
as  I  saw  in  a  letter  in  a  Cincinnati  paper  that 
Gen.  Ferrero  was  appointed  provost  marshal  at 
Lexington.  The  51st  is  down  there  somewhere, 
and  I  guess  it  is  about  as  well  off  there  as  any- 
where. There  is  much  said  about  their  closing 
up  the  regimental  companies — that  is,  where 
there  are  ten  companies  of  40  men  each,  closing 
them  up  to  five  companies,  of  80  men  each.  It 
is  said  the  Government  purposes  something  of 
this  kind.  It  will  throw  a  good  many  captains 
and  lieutenants  out.  I  suppose  you  know  that 
Le  Gendre  is  now  colonel  of  the  5 1  st  —  it  *s  a  pity 
if  we  have  n't  Americans  enough  to  put  over  our 
old  war  regiments.  (I  think  less  and  less  of  for- 
eigners, in  this  war.  What  I  see,  especially  in  the 
hospitals,  convinces  me  that  there  is  no  other 
stock,  for  emergencies,  but  native  American  —  no 
other  name  by  which  we  can  be  saved.) 

Mother,  I  feel  quite  bad  about  Andrew — I 
am  so  in  hopes  to  hear  that  he  has  recovered  — 
I  think  about  him  every  day.  He  must  not  get 
fretting  and  disheartened  —  that  is  reallv  the  worst 
feature  of  any  sickness.      Diseases  of  the  throat 

and  bronchia  are  the  result  always  of  bad  state  of 

64 


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1»- 


Letters  of  1862—3 

the  stomach,  blood,  etc.  (they  never  come  from 
the  throat  itself).  I'he  throat  and  the  bronchia 
are  lined,  like  the  stomach  and  other  interior 
organs,  with  a  fine  lining  like  silk  or  crape,  and 
when  all  this  gets  ulcerated  or  inflamed  or  what- 
not (it  is  Dr.  Sammis's  mucous  membrane^  you 
know)  it  is  bad,  and  most  distressing.  Medicine 
is  really  of  no  great  account,  except  just  to  pacify 
a  person.  This  lining  I  speak  of  is  full  of  little 
blood  vessels,  and  the  way  to  make  a  real  cure  is 
by  gentle  and  steady  means  to  recuperate  the 
whole  system ;  this  will  tell  upon  the  blood, 
upon  the  blood  vessels,  and  so  finally  and  effec- 
tually upon  all  this  coating  I  speak  of  that  lines 
the  throat,  etc.  But  as  it  is  a  long  time  before 
this  vital  lining  membrane  {very  important)  is 
injured,  so  it  is  a  long  time  before  it  can  be  made 
all  healthy  and  right  again  ;  but  Andrew  is  young 
and  strong  enough  and  [has  a]  good  constitution 
for  basis — and  of  course  by  regular  diet,  care, 
(and  nary  whiskey  under  any  circumstances)  I 
am  sure  he  would  not  only  get  over  that  trouble, 
but  be  as  well  and  strong  as  he  ever  was  in  his 
life.  Mother,  you  tell  him  I  sent  him  my  love, 
and  Nancy  *  the  same,  and  the  dear  little  boys  the 
same  —  the  next  time  you  or  Mat  goes  down  there 
you  take  this  and  show  him. 

Mat,  I  am  quite  glad  to  hear  that  you  are  not 
hurried  and  fretted  with  work  from  New  York 
this  spring — I  am  sure  I  should  think  Sis  and 
housekeeping,  etc.,  would  be  enough  to  attend  to. 

*  Andrew  Whitman's  wife. 

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I  was  real  amused  with  Sis*s  remarks,  and  all  that 
was  i:  the  letter  about  her.  You  must  none  of 
you  notice  her  smartness,  nor  criticisms,  before 
her,  nor  encourage  her  to  spread  herself  nor  be 
critical,  as  it  is  *^ot  good  to  encourage  a  child  to 
be  too  sharp  —  and  I  hope  Sissy  is  going  to  be 
a  splendid  specimen  of  good  animal  health.  For 
the  few  years  to  come  I  should  think  more  of 
that  than  anything  —  that  is  the  foundation  of 
all  (righteousness  included) ;  as  to  her  mental 
vivacity  and  growth,  they  are  plenty  enough  of 
themselves,  and  wiil  get  along  quite  fast  enough 
of  themselves,  plenty  fast  enough  —  don't  stimu- 
late them  at  all.  Dear  little  creature,  how  I  should 
like  to  see  her  ♦•his  minute.  Jeff  must  not  make 
his  lessons  to  her  in  music  anyways  strong  or 
frequent  on  any  account  —  two  lessons  a  week, 
of  ten  minutes  each,  is  enough  — but  then  I  dare 
say  Jeff  will  think  of  all  these  things,  just  the 
same  as  I  am  saying.  Jeff  writes  he  wonders  if 
1  am  as  well  and  hearty,  and  I  suppose  he  means 
as  much  of  a  beauty  as  ever,  whether  I  look  the 
same.  Well,  not  only  as  much  but  more  so  —  I 
believe  I  weigh  about  200,  and  as  to  my  face, 
(so  scarlet,)  and  my  beard  and  neck,  they  are 
terrible  to  behold.  I  fancy  the  reason  I  am  able 
to  do  some  good  in  the  hospitals  among  the  poor 
languishing  and  wounded  boys,  is,  that  I  am  so 
large  and  well  —  indeed  like  a  great  wild  buffalo, 
with  much  hair.  Many  of  the  soldiers  are  from 
the  West,  and  far  North,  and  they  take  to  a  man 

that  has  not  the  bleached  shiny  and  shaved  cut 

66 


u 


Letters  of  1862—3 

of  the  cities  and  the  East.  I  spent  three  to  four 
hours  yesterday  in  Armory  hospital.  One  of 
my  particular  boys  there  was  dying  —  pneumonia 
—  he  wanted  me  to  stop  with  him  awhi'e;  he 
could  not  articulate  —  but  the  look  of  his  eyes, 
and  the  holding  on  of  his  hand  was  deeply  affect- 
ing. His  case  is  a  relapse  —  eight  days  ago  he 
had  recovered,  was  up,  was  perhaps  a  little  careless 
— at  any  rate  took  cold,  was  taken  down  again  and 
has  sank  rapidly.  He  has  no  friends  or  relatives 
here.  Yesterday  he  labored  and  panted  so  for 
breath,  it  was  terrible.  He  is  a  young  man  from 
New  England,  from  the  country.  I  expected  to 
see  his  cot  vacated  this  afternoon  or  evening,  as  I 
shall  go  down  then.  Mother,  if  you  or  Mat  was 
here  a  couple  of  days,  you  would  cry  your  eyes 
out.  I  find  I  have  to  restrain  myself  and  keep 
my  composure — I  succeed  pretty  well.  Good- 
bye, dearest  mother.     Walt. 

Jeff,  Capt.  MuUer  remains  here  yet  for  some 
time.  He  is  bringing  out  his  report.  I  shall 
try  to  send  you  a  copy.  Give  my  best  respects 
to  Dr.  Ruggles. 

Mother,  my  last  letter  home  was  a  week  ago 
to-day  —  we  are  having  a  dark  rainy  day  here  — 
it  is  now  half-past  3.  I  have  been  in  my  room 
all  day  so  far  —  shall  have  dinner  in  half  an  hour, 
and  then  down  to  Armory. 


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VIII 


Washingtofiy  yJpril  28,  ^S6j,  Dearest 
Mother  —  A  letter  from  JefF  came  this  morn- 
ing. Mother,  I  was  sorry  to  hear  you  had  a 
return  of  your  rheumatism  —  I  do  hope  you 
will  favor  yourself  more,  it  depends  so  much 
on  that  —  and  rheumatism  is  so  obstinate,  when 
it  gets  hold  of  one.  Mother,  you  received  a 
letter  from  me  sent  last  Wednesday,  22nd,  of 
course,  with  a  small  quantity  of  shinplasters.  Next 
time  you  or  JefF  writes,  I  wish  you  would  tell  me 
whether  the  letters  come  pretty  regularly,  the 
next  morning  after  I  write  them  —  this  now  ought 
to  reach  you  Wednesday  forenoon,  April  29th. 
Mother,  did  a  Mr.  Howell  call  on  you  ?  He  was 
here  last  week  to  see  about  his  boy,  died  a  long 
while  ago  in  hospital  in  Yorktown.  He  works 
in  the  Navy  Yard  —  knows  Andrew.  You  will 
see  about  him  (the  boy)  in  a  letter  I  sent  yester- 
day to  the  Eagle  —  it  ought  to  appear  to-day  or 
to-morrow. 

JefF,  I  wish  you  wculd  take  10^  I  send  in  this 

letter  and  get  me  ten  copies  of  the  Eagle  with  it 

in  —  put   in   five  more  of  my  pictures   (the  big 

ones  in  last  edition  "Leaves"),  and  a  couple  of 

the  photographs  carte  visites  (the  smaller  ones), 

and  send  me  to  the  same  direction  as  before ;  it 

came  very  well.     I    will   send  an   Eagle  to  Han 

and  George.     The  stamps  and   10/   are  for  JefF 

for  the  papers  and  postage. 

68 


li 


Letters  of  1862—3 

I  have  written  to  Han,  and  sent  her  Georj^e's 
last  two  letters  from  Kentucky ;  one  I  got  last 
week  from  Mount  Sterling.  I  write  to  George 
and  send  him  papers.  Sam  Beatty  is  here  in 
Washington  again.  I  saw  him,  and  he  said  he 
would  write  to  George.  Mother,  I  have  not  got 
any  new  clothes  yet,  but  shall  very  soon  I  hope. 
People  are  more  rough  and  free  and  easy  drest 
than  your  way.  Then  it  is  dusty  or  muddy  most 
of  the  time  here.  Mother  dear,  I  hope  you  have 
comfortable  times  —  at  least  as  comfortable  as  the 
law  allows.  I  am  so  glad  you  are  not  going  to 
have  the  trouble  of  moving  this  ist  of  May.  How 
are  the  Browns  ^  Tell  Will  I  should  like  to  see 
him  first  rate  —  if  he  was  here  attached  to  the 
suite  of  some  big  officer,  or  something  of  that 
kind,  he  would  have  a  good  time  and  do  well.  I 
see  lots  of  young  fellows  not  half  as  capable  and 
trustworthy  as  he,  coming  and  going  in  Washing- 
ton, in  such  positions.  The  big  generals  and 
head  men  all  through  the  armies,  and  provosts 
etc.,  like  to  have  a  squad  of  such  smart,  nimble 
young  men  around  them.  Give  my  respects  to 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown. 

Tell  Jeff  I   am   going  to  write   to    Mr.   Lane 

either  to-day  or  to-morrow.     Jeff  asks  me  if  I 

go  to  hospitals  as  much  as  ever.      If  my  letters 

home  don't  show  it,   you  don't  get  'em.     I    feel 

sorry  sometimes  after  I   have  sent  them,  I  have 

said  so  much  about  hospitals,  and  so  mournful. 

O   mother,  the    young    man   in   Armory-square, 

Dennis  Barrett,  in  the  169th  N.  Y.,  I  mentioned 

69 


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before,  is  probably  going  to  get  up  after  all ;  he  is 
like  one  saved  from  the  grave.  Saturday  last  I 
saw  him  and  talked  with  him  and  gave  him  some- 
thing to  eat,  and  he  was  much  better  —  it  is 
the  most  unexpected  recovery  I  have  yet  seen. 
Mother,  I  see  Jeff  says  in  the  letter  you  don't 
hear  from  me  very  often  —  I  will  write  oftener, 
especially  to  Jeff.  Dear  brother,  I  hope  you  are 
getting  along  good,  and  in  good  spirits;  you  must 
not  mind  the  failure  of  the  sewer  bills,  etc.  It 
don't  seem  to  me  it  makes  so  much  difference 
about  worldly  successes  (beyond  just  enough  to 
eat  and  drink  and  shelter,  in  the  moderatest  lim- 
its) any  more,  since  the  last  four  months  of  my 
life  especially,  and  that  merely  to  live,  and  have 
one  fair  meal  a  day,  is  enough  —  but  then  you 
have  a  family,  and  that  makes  a  difference. 

Matty,  I  send  you  my  best  love,  dear  sister  — 
how  I  wish  I  could  be  with  you  one  or  two  good 
days.  Mat,  do  you  remember  the  good  time  we 
had  that  awful  stormy  night  we  went  to  the  Opera, 
New  York,  and  had  "-he  front  seat,  and  heard  the 
handsome-mouthed  Guerrabella  ?  and  had  the 
good  oyster  supper  at  Fulton  market  —  ("pewter 
them  ales.")  O  Mat,  I  hope  and  trust  we  shall 
have  such  times  again. 

Tell  Andrew  he  must  remember  what  I  wrote 

about  the  throat,  etc.     I  am  sure  he  will  get  all 

right  before  long,  and  recover  his  voice.     Give 

him  my  love  —  and  tell   Mannahatta  her  Uncle 

Walt  is  living  now  among  the  sick  soldiers.     Jeff, 

look  out  for  the  Eagles,  and  send  the  portraits. 

70 


Letters  of  1862—3 

Dearest  mother,  I  must  bid  you  and  all  for  the 
present  good-bye.     Walt. 


IX 

Washington,  Tuesday,  May  5,  iS6j.  Dearest 
Mother  —  Your  letter  came  safe,  and  was  very 
welcome,  and  always  will  be.  Mother,  I  am 
sorry  about  your  rheumatism  —  if  it  still  con- 
tinues I  think  it  would  be  well  for  me  to  write 
a  line  to  Mrs.  Piercy,  and  get  Jeff  to  stop  with 
it,  so  that  you  could  tal;:e  the  baths  again,  as  I 
am  sure  they  are  very  beneficial.  Dear  mother, 
you  write  me,  or  Jeff  must  in  the  next  letter, 
how  you  are  getting  along,  whether  tt  is  any 
better  or  worse — I  want  to  know.  l\tother, 
about  George's  fund  in  the  bank ;  I  hope  by  all 
means  vou  can  scratch  along  so  as  to  leave 
$250  there  —  I  am  so  anxious  that  our  family 
should  have  a  little  ranch,  even  if  it  is  the 
meanest  kind,  off  somewhere  that  you  can  call 
your  own,  and  that  would  do  for  Ed  etc.  — 
it  might  be  a  real  dependence,  and  comfort  — 
and  may-be  for  George  as  much  as  any  one. 
I  mean  to  come  home  one  of  these  days,  and 
get  the  acre  cr  half  acre  somewhere  out  in 
some  by-place  on  Long  Island,  and  build  it  —  you 
see  if  I  don't.  About  Hannah,  dear  mother,  I 
hardly  know  what  advice  to  give  you  —  from 
what  I  know  at  present  I  can't  tell  wiiat  course 
to  pursue.  I  want  Han  to  come  home,  from  the 
bottom    of    my    heart.     Then    there    are    other 

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thoughts  and  considerations  that  come  up.  Dear 
mother,  I  cannot  advise,  but  shall  acquiesce  in 
anything  that  is  settled  upon,  and  try  to  help. 

The  condition  of  things  here  in  the  hospitals 
is  getting  pretty  bad — the  wounded  from  the 
battles  around  Fredericksburg  are  coming  up  in 
large  numbers.  It  is  very  sad  to  see  them.  I 
have  written  to  Mr.  Lane,  asking  him  to  get  his 
friends  to  forward  me  what  they  think  proper  — 
but  somehow  1  feel  delicate  about  sending  such 
requests,  after  all. 

I  have  almost  made  up  my  mind  to  do  what  1 
can  personally,  and  not  seek  assistance  from 
others. 

Dear  mother,  I  have  not  received  any  letter 
from  George.  I  write  to  him  and  send  papers  to 
Winchester.  Mother,  while  I  have  been  writing 
this  a  very  large  number  of  Southern  prisoners,  I 
should  think  i,ooo  at  least,  has  past  up  Penn- 
sylvania avenue,  under  a  strong  guard.  I  went 
out  in  the  street,  close  to  them.  Poor  fellows, 
many  of  them  mere  lads  —  it  brought  the  tears; 
they  seemed  our  flesh  and  blood  too,  some 
wounded,  all  miserable  in  clothing,  all  in  dirt 
and  tatters  —  many  of  them  fine  young  men. 
Mother,  I  cannot  tell  you  how  I  feel  to  see  those 
prisoners  marcned. 


letter 
time 
times 
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IVashington,     Wednesday    forenoon^     May    ij, 
i86j.     Dearest  Mother  —  I  am  late  with  my 


7a 


Letters  of  1862—3 

letter  this  week  —  my  poor,  poor  boys  occupy  my 
time  very  much — J  go  every  day,  and  some- 
times nights.  I  believe  I  mentioned  a  young 
man  in  Ward  F,  Armory-square,  with  a  bad  wound 
in  the  leg,  very  agonizing  —  had  to  have  it  propt 
up,  and  an  attendant  all  the  while  dripping  water 
on  night  and  day.  I  was  in  hopes  at  one  time 
he  would  get  through  with  it,  but  a  few  days 
ago  he  took  a  sudden  bad  turn  and  died  about 
3  o'clock  the  same  afternoon  —  it  was  horrible. 
He  was  of  good  family — handsome,  intelligent 
man,  about  26,  married  ;  his  name  was  John  Elliot, 
of  Cumberland  Valley,  Bedford  co.,  Penri.  —  be- 
longed to  2nd  Pennsylvania  Cavalry.  I  felt  very 
bad  about  it.  I  have  wrote  to  his  father  —  have 
not  received  any  answer  yet ;  no  friend  nor  any 
of  his  folks  was  here,  and  have  not  been  here  nor 
sent  —  probably  don't  know  of  it  at  all.  The  sur- 
geons put  off  amputating  the  leg,  he  was  so  ex- 
hausted, but  at  last  it  was  imperatively  necessary  to 
amputate.  Mother,  I  am  shocked  to  tell  you 
that  he  never  came  alive  off  the  amputating  table 
—  he  died  under  the  operation  —  it  was  what  I 
had  dreaded  and  anticipated.  Poor  young  man,  he 
suffered  much,  very,  very  much,  for  many  days,  and 
bore  it  so  patiently  —  so  that  it  was  a  release  to 
him.  Mother,  such  things  are  awful  —  not  a 
soul  here  he  knew  or  cared  about,  except  me  — 
yet  the  surgeons  and  nurses  were  good  to  him. 
I  think  all  was  done  for  him  that  could  be  —  there 
was  no  help  but  take  off  the  leg  ;  he  was  under 
chloroform  —  they  tried  their  best  to  bring  him 

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to  —  three  long  hours  were  spent,  a  strong  smell- 
ing bottle  held  under  his  nostrils,  with  other 
means,  three  hours.  Mother,  how  contemptible 
all  the  usual  little  worldly  prides  and  vanities,  and 
striving  after  appearances,  seems  in  the  midst 
of  such  scenes  as  these — such  tragedies  of  soul 
and  body.  To  see  such  things  and  not  be  able 
to  help  them  is  awful — I  feel  almost  ashamed  of 
being  so  well  and  whole. 

Dear  mother,  I  have  not  heard  from  George 
himself;  but  I  got  a  letter  from  Fred  McReady, 
a  young  Brooklyn  man  in  51st  —  he  is  intimate 
with  George,  said  he  was  well  and  hearty.  I 
got  the  letter  about  five  days  ago.  I  wrote  to 
George  four  days  since,  directed  to  Winchester, 
Kentucky.  I  got  a  letter  from  a  friend  in  Nash- 
ville, Tenn.,  yesterday  —  he  told  me  the  9th  Army 
Corps  was  ordered  to  move  to  Murfreesboro, 
Tenn.  I  don't  know  whether  this  is  so  or  not. 
I  send  papers  to  G-iiorge  almost  every  day.  So 
far  I  think  it  was  fortunate  the  51st  was  moved 
West,  and  I  hope  it  will  continue  so.  Mother, 
it  is  all  a  lottery,  this  war ;  no  one  knows  what 
will  come  up  next. 

Mother,  I  received  Jeff's  letter  of  May  9th  — 
it  was  welcome,  as  all  Jeff's  letters  are,  and  all 
others  from  home.  Jeff  says  you  do  not  hear 
from  me  at  home  but  seldom.  Mother,  I  write 
once  a  week  to  you  regular ;  but  I  will  write 
soon  to  Jeff  a  good  long  letter— I  have  wanted 
to  for  some  time,  but  have  been  much  occupied. 
Dear  brother,  I  wish  you  to  say  to  Probasco  and 

74 


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J  and 


Letters  of  1862-3 

all  the  other  young  men  on  the  Works,  I  send 
them  mv  love  and  best  thanks — never  anything 
came  more  acceptable  than  the  little  fund  they 
forwarded  me  the  last  week  through  Mr.  Lane. 
Our  wounded  from  Hooker's  battles  are  worse 
wounded  and  more  of  them  than  any  battle  of  the 
war,  and  indeed  any,  I  may  say,  of  modern  times 
—  besides,  the  weather  has  been  very  hot  here, 
very  bad  for  new  wounds.  Yet  as  Jeff  writes 
so  downhearted  I  must  tell  him  the  Rebellion  has 
lost  worse  and  more  than  we  have.  The  more  I 
find  out  about  it,  the  more  I  think  they,  the 
Confederates,  have  received  an  irreparable  harm 
and  loss  in  Virginia  —  I  should  not  be  surprised 
to  see  them  (either  voluntarily  or  by  force)  leav- 
ing Virginia  before  many  weeks ;  I  don't  see  how 
on  earth  they  can  stay  there.  I  think  Hooker 
is  already  reaching  after  them  again  —  I  myself 
do  not  give  up  Hooker  yet.  Dear  mother, 
I  should  like  to  hear  from  Han,  poor  Han.  I 
send  my  best  love  to  sister  Mat  and  all.  Good- 
bye, dearest  mother.     Walt. 


XI 

JVashington^   Tuesday  forenoon^  May  79,   i86j^. 

Dearest  Mother — I  sent  George 

a  letter  yesterday  —  have  not  got  any  letter  myself 
from  Georgy,  but  have  sent  him  quite  a  good 
many  and  papers.  Mother,  what  a  tramp  the 
51st   has   had  —  they  only   need   now   to  go  to 

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California,  and  they  will  finish  the  job  complete. 

0  mother,  how  welcome  the  shirts  were — I  was 
putting  off  and  putting  off,  to  get  some  new  ones. 

1  could  not  find  any  one  to  do  them  as  I  want 
them,  and  it  would  have  cost  such  a  price  —  and 
so  my  old  ones  had  got  to  be.  When  they  came 
back  from  the  wash  1  had  to  laugh  ;  they  were  a  lot 
of  rags,  held  together  with  starch.  I  have  a  very 
nice  old  black  aunty  for  a  washwoman,  but  she 
bears  down  pretty  hard,  I  guess,  when  she  irons 
them,  and  they  showed  something  like  the  poor  old 
city  of  Fredericksburg  does,  since  Burnside  bom- 
barded it.  Well,  mother,  when  the  bundle  came,  I 
was  so  glad  —  and  the  coats  too,  worn  as  they  are, 
they  come  in  very  handy  —  and  the  cake,  dear 
mother,  I  am  almost  like  the  boy  that  put  it 
under  his  pillow  and  woke  up  in  the  night  and 
eat  some.  I  carried  a  good  chunk  to  a  young  man 
wounded  I  think  a  good  deal  of,  and  it  did  him 
so  much  good  —  it  is  dry,  but  all  the  better,  as  he 
eat  it  with  tea  and  it  relished.  I  eat  a  piece  with 
him,  and  drinked  some  tea  out  of  his  cup,  as  I  .^at 
by  the  side  of  his  cot.  Mother,  I  have  neglected, 
I  think,  what  I  ought  to  have  told  you  two 
or  three  weeks  ago,  that  is  that  I  have  discarded 
my  old  clothes  —  somewhat  because  they  were  too 
thick,  and  more  still  because  they  were  worse 
gone  in  than  any  I  have  ever  yet  wore,  I  think, 
in  my  life,  especially  the  trowsers.  Wearing  my 
big  boots  had  caused  the  inside  of  the  legs  just 
above  the  knee  to  wear  two  beautiful  round  holes 

right  through  cloth  and  partly  through  the  lin- 

76 


li  I 


Letters  of  1862—3 

ing,  producing  a  novel  effect,  which  was  not 
necessary,  as  I  produce  a  sufficient  sensation  with- 
out—  then  they  were  desperately  fiided.  I  have 
a  nice  plain  suit  of  a  dark  wine  color  ;  looks  very 
well,  and  feels  good  —  single  breasted  sack  coat 
with  breast  pockets,  etc.,  and  vest  and  pants  same 
as  what  I  always  wear  (pants  pretty  full),  so  upon 
the  whole  all  looks  unusually  good  for  me.  My 
hat  is  very  good  yet,  boots  ditto ;  have  a  new 
necktie,  nice  shirts  —  you  can  imagine  I  cut  quite 
a  swell.  I  have  not  trimmed  my  beard  since  I  left 
home,  but  it  is  not  grown  much  longer,  only 
perhaps  a  little  bushier.  I  keep  about  as  stout 
as  ever,  and  the  past  five  or  six  days  I  have  felt 
wonderful  well,  indeed  never  did  I  feel  better. 
About  ten  or  twelve  days  ago,  we  had  a  short 
spell  of  very  warm  weather  here,  but  for  about 
six  days  now  it  has  been  delightful,  just  warm 
enough.  I  generally  go  to  the  hospitals  from 
12  to  4 — and  then  again  from  6  to  9  ,  some 
days  I  only  go  in  the  middle  of  the  day  or  even- 
ing, not  both — and  then  when  I  feel  somewhat 
opprest,  I  skip  over  a  day,  or  make  perhaps  a 
light  call  only,  as  I  have  several  cautions  from 
the  doctors,  who  tell  me  that  one  must  beware  of 
continuing  too  steady  and  long  in  the  air  and  in- 
fluences of  the  hospitals.  I  find  the  caution  a 
wise  one. 

Mother,  you  or  JefF  must  write  me  what  An- 
drew does  about  going  to  North  Carolina.  I 
should  think  it  might  have  a  beneficial  effect 
upon  his  throat.     I  wrote  Jeff  quite  a  long  letter 

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Sunday.  JefF  must  write  to  me  whenever  he 
can,  I  like  dearly  to  have  them  —  and  whenever 
you  feel  like  it  you  too,  dear  mother.  Tell  Sis 
her  uncle  Walt  will  come  back  one  of  these  days 
from  the  sick  soldiers  and  take  her  out  on  Fort 
Greene  again.  Mother,  I  received  a  letter  yester- 
day from  John  Elliot's  father,  in  Bedford  co., 
Pennsylvania  (the  young  man  I  told  you  about, 
who  died  under  the  operation).  It  was  very  sad; 
it  was  the  first  he  knew  about  it.  I  don't  know 
whether  I  told  you  of  Dennis  Barrett,  pneumonia 
three  weeks  since,  had  got  well  enough  to  be  sent 
home.  Dearest  mother,  I  hope  you  will  take 
things  as  easy  as  possible  and  try  to  keep  a  good 
heart.  Matty,  my  dear  sister,  I  have  to  inform 
you  that  I  was  treated  to  a  splendid  dish  of  ice- 
cream Sunday  night ;  I  wished  you  was  with  me 
to  have  another.  I  send  you  my  love,  dear 
sister.  Mother,  I  hope  by  all  means  it  will  be 
possible  to  keep  the  money  whole  to  get  some 
ranch  next  spring,  if  not  before ;  I  mean  to  come 
home  and  build  it.  Good-bye  for  the  present, 
dear  mother.     Walt. 


XII 

Washington^  Tuesday  forenoon^  May  26^  i86j. 
Dearest  Mother — I  got  a  long  letter  from 
George,  dated  near  Lancaster,  Kentucky,  May 
15th  ;  he  seems  to  be  well  and  in  good  spirits  — 
says  he  gets  some  letters  from  me  and  papers 
too.      At  the  time  he  wrote  the  51st  was  doing 

78 


Letters  of  1862—3 

provost  duty  at  Lancaster,  but  would  not  prob- 
ably remain  so  very  long  —  seem  to  be  moving 
towards  southeast  Kentucky  —  had  a  good  camp, 
and  good  times  generally.    Le  Gendre  is  colonel 

—  Gen.  Ferrero  has  left  the  service  —  Col.  Potter 
(now  brig.-gen.)  is  in  Cincinnati  —  Capt.  Sims, 
etc.,  are  all  well.  George  describes  Kentucky  as 
a  very  fine  country  —  says  the  people  are  about 
half  and  half,  Secesh  and  Union.  This  is  the 
longest  letter  I  have  yet  received  from  George. 
Did  he  write  you  one  about  the  same  time  r 
Mother,  I  have  not  rec'd  any  word  from  home 
in  over  a  week  —  the  last  letter  I  had  from  Mr. 
Lane  was  about  twelve  days  ago,  sending  me 
1 10  for  the  soldiers  (five  from  Mr.  Kirkwood 
and  five  from  Mr.  Conklin  Brush).  Mother 
dear,  I  should  like  to  hear  from  Martha ;  I  wish 
JefF  would  write  me  about  it.  Has  Andrew 
gone  ?  and  how  is  your  wrist  and  arm,  mother  ? 
We  had  some  very  hot  weather  here  —  I  don't 
know  what  I  should  have  done  without  the  thin 
grey  coat  you  sent  —  you  don't  know  how  good 
it  does,  and  looks  too  ;  I  wore  it  three  days,  and 
carried  a  fan  and  an  umbrella  (quite  a  Japanee) 

—  most  everybody  here  carries  an  umbrella,  on 
account  of  the  sun.  Yesterday  and  to-day  how- 
ever have  been  quite  cool,  east  wind.  Mother, 
the  shirts  were  a  real  godsend,  they  do  first 
rate ;  I  like  the  fancy  marseilles  collar  and  wrist- 
bands. Mother,  how  are  you  getting  along  — 
I  suppose  just  the  same  as  ever.  I  suppose 
Jess  and  Ed  are  just  the  same  as  ever.     When 

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The  Wound   Dresser 

you  write,  you  tell  me  all  about  everything,  and 
the  Browns,  and  the  neighborhood  generally. 
Mother,  is  George's  trunk  home  and  of  no 
use  there  ?  I  wish  I  had  it  here,  as  I  must  have 
a  trunk — but  do  not  wish  you  to  send  until  I 
send  you  word.  I  suppose  my  letter  never  ap- 
peared in  the  Eagle ;  well,  I  shall  send  them  no 
more,  as  I  think  likely  they  hate  to  put  in  any- 
thing which  may  celebrate  me  a  little,  even  though 
it  is  just  the  thing  they  want  for  their  paper  and 
readers.  They  altered  the  other  letter  on  that 
account,  very  meanly.  I  shall  probably  have  let- 
ters in  the  N.  Y.  Times  and  perhaps  other  papers 
in  about  a  week.  Mother,  I  have  been  pretty 
active  in  hospitals  for  the  past  two  weeks,  some- 
where every  day  or  night.  I  have  written  you 
so  much  about  cases,  etc.,  I  will  not  write  you  any 
more  on  that  subject  this  time.  O  the  sad,  sad 
things  I  see  —  the  noble  young  men  with  legs  and 
arms  taken  off — the  deaths —  the  sick  weakness, 
sicker  than  death,  that  some  endure,  after  ampu- 
tations (there  is  a  great  difference,  some  make 
little  of  it,  others  lie  after  it  for  days,  just  flicker- 
ing alive,  and  O  so  deathly  weak  and  sick).  I 
go  this  afternoon  to  Campbell  hospital,  out  a 
couple  of  miles. 

Mother,  I  should  like  to  have  Jeff  send  me 
20  of  the  large-sized  portraits  and  as  many  of  the 
standing  figure ;  do  them  up  flat.  I  think  every 
day  about  Martha.  Mother,  have  you  heard  any 
further  about  Han  ?  Good-bye  for  the  present, 
dearest  mother.     Walt. 

80 


Letters  of  1862—3 

XIII 

Washington,  Tuesday  mornings  June  p,  i86j. 
Dearest  Mother  —  Jeff's  letter  came  yesterday 
and  was  very  welcome,  as  I  wanted  to  hear 
about  you  all.  I  wrote  to  George  yesterday  and 
sent  Jeff's  letter  enclosed.  It  looks  from  some 
accounts  as  though  the  9th  Army  Corps  might 
be  going  down  into  East  Tennessee  (Cumberland 
Gap,  or  perhaps  bound  for  Knoxville).  It  is  an 
important  region,  and  has  many  Southern  Union- 
ists. The  staunchest  Union  man  I  have  ever  met 
is  a  young  Southerner  in  the  2nd  Tennessee  (Union 
reg't)  —  he  was  ten  months  in  Southern  prisons ; 
came  up  from  Richmond  paroled  about  ten  weeks 
ago,  and  has  been  in  hospital  here  sick  until  lately. 
He  suffered  everything  but  death  —  he  is  [the] 
one  they  hung  up  by  the  heels,  head  downwards  — 
and  indeed  worse  than  death,  but  stuck  to  his  con- 
victions like  a  hero  —  John  Barker,  a  real  manly 
fellow ;  I  saw  much  of  him  and  heard  much  of 
that  country  that  can  be  relied  on.  He  is  now 
gone  home  to  his  reg't 

Mother,  I  am  feeling  very  well  these  days  — 
my  head  that  was  stopt  up  so  and  hard  of  hearing 
seems  to  be  all  right ;  I  only  hope  you  have  had 
similar  good  fortune  with  your  rheumatism,  and 
that  it  will  continue  so.  I  wish  I  could  come  in 
for  a  couple  of  days  and  see  you  ;  if  I  should  suc- 
ceed in  getting  a  transportation  ticket  that  would 
take  me  to   New  York  and  back   I   should  be 

tempted  to  come  home  for  two  or  three  days,  as  I 
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want  some  MSS.  and  books,  and  the  trunk,  etc.  — 
but  I  will  see.  Mother,  your  letter  week  before 
last  was  very  good  —  whenever  you  feel  like  it 
you  write  me,  dear  mother,  and  tell  me  everything 
about  the  neighborhood  and  all  the  items  of  our 
family. 

And  sister  Mat,  how  is  she  getting  along  —  I 
believe  I  will  have  to  write  a  letter  especially  to 
her  and  Sis  one  of  these  times. 

It  is  awful  dry  weather  here,  no  rain  of  any  con- 
sequence for  five  or  six  weeks.  We  have  straw- 
berries good  and  plenty,  15  cents  a  quart,  with 
the  hulls  on  —  I  go  down  to  market  sometimes  of 
a  morning  and  buy  two  or  three  quarts,  for  the 
folks  I  take  my  meals  with.  Mother,  do  you 
know  I  have  not  paid,  as  you  may  say,  a  cent  of 
board  since  I  have  been  in  Washington,  that  is  for 
meals  —  four  or  five  times  I  have  made  a  rush  to 
leave  the  folks  and  find  a  moderate-priced  board- 
ing-house, but  every  time  they  have  made  such  a 
time  about  it  that  I  have  kept  on.  It  is  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  O'Connor  (he  is  the  author  of  "  Harring- 
ton"); he  has  a  ^1600  office  in  the  Treasury, 
and  she  is  a  first-rate  woman,  a  Massachusetts  girl. 
They  keep  house  in  a  moderate  way  ;  they  have 
one  little  girl  (lost  a  fine  boy  about  a  year  ago) ; 
they  have  two  rooms  in  the  same  house  where  I 
hire  my  rooms,  and  I  take  breakfast  (half-past  8) 
and  dinner  (half-past  4)  with  them,  as  they  will 
have  it  so.  That 's  the  way  it  has  gone  on  now 
over  five  months,  and  as  I  say,  they  won't  listen  to 
my  leaving  —  but  I  shall  do  so,  I  think.     I  can 

82 


'f\ 


Letters  of  1862—3 

never  forget  the  kindness  and  real  friendship,  and 
it  appears  as  though  they  would  continue  just  the 
same,  if  it  were  for  all  our  lives.  But  I  have  in- 
sisted on  going  to  market  (it  is  pleasant  in  the 
cool  of  the  morning)  and  getting  the  things  at  my 
own  expense,  two  or  three  times  a  week  lately. 
I  pay  for  the  room  I  occupy  now  $7  a  month  — 
the  landlord  is  a  mixture  or  booby,  miser,  and  hog; 
his  name  is  G ;  the  landlady  is  a  good  wo- 
man, Washington  raised — they  are  quite  rich; 
he  is  Irish  of  the  worst  kind  —  has  had  a  good 
office  for  ten  ye?.rs  until  Lincoln  came  in.  They 
have  bought  another  house,  smaller,  to  live  in, 
and  are  going  to  move  (were  to  have  moved  ist 
of  June).  They  had  an  auction  of  the  house  we 
live  in  yesterday,  but  nobody  came  to  buy,  so  it 
was  ridiculous  —  we  had  a  red  flag  out,  and  a  nig- 
ger walked  up  and  down  ringing  a  big  bell,  which 
is  the  fashion  here  for  auctions. 

Well,  mother,  the  war  still  goes  on,  and  every- 
thing as  much  in  a  fog  as  ever  —  and  the  bat- 
tles as  bloody,  and  the  wounded  and  sick  getting 
worse  and  plentier  all  the  time.  I  see  a  letter  in 
the  Tribune  from  Lexington,  Ky.,  June  5th,  headed 
"  The  9th  Army  Corps  departing  for  Vicksburg  " 
— •  but  I  cannot  exactly  make  it  out  on  reading  the 
letter  carefully  —  I  don't  see  anything  in  the  letter 
about  the  9th  Corps  moving  from  Vicksburg ; 
at  any  rate  I  think  the  2nd  division  is  more  likely 
to  be  needed  in  Kentucky  (or  as  I  said,  in  Eastern 
Tennessee),  as  the  Secesh  are  expected  to  make 
trouble  there.     But  one   can   hardly   tell  —  the 

83 


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The  Wound   Dresser 

only  thing  is  to  resign  oneself  to  events  as  they 
occur ;  it  is  a  sad  and  dreary  time,  for  so  many 
thousands  of  parents  and  relatives,  not  knowing 
what  will  occur  next.  Mother,  I  told  you,  I  think 
last  week,  that  I  had  wrote  to  Han,  and  enclosed 
George's  last  letter  to  me  —  I  wrote  a  week  ago 
last  Sunday  —  I  wonder  if  she  got  the  letter. 
About  the  pictures,  I  should  like  Jeff  to  send 
them,  as  soon  as  convenient  —  might  send  20  of 
the  big  head,  10  or  12  of  the  standing  figure,  and 
3  of  the  carte  visite. 

I  am  writing  this  in  Major  Hapgood's  office — 
it  is  bright  and  pleasant,  only  the  dust  here  in 
Washington  is  a  great  nuisance.  Mother,  your 
shirts  do  first  rate  —  I  am  wearing  them ;  the 
one  I  have  on  to-day  suits  me  better  than  any  I 
have  ever  yet  had.  I  have  not  worn  the  thin 
coat  the  last  week  or  so,  as  it  has  not  been  very 
hot  lately.  Mother,  I  think  something  of  com- 
mencing a  series  of  lectures  and  reading,  etc., 
through  different  cities  of  the  North,  to  supply 
myself  with  funds  for  my  hospital  and  soldiers' 
visits,  as  I  do  not  like  to  be  beholden  to  the  me- 
dium of  others.  I  need  a  pretty  large  supply  of 
money,  etc.,  to  do  the  good  I  would  like  to,  and 
the  work  grows  upon  me,  and  fascinates  me  —  it 
is  the  most  affecting  thing  you  ever  see,  the  lots 
of  poor  sick  and  wounded  young  men  that  depend 
so  much,  in  one  word  or  another,  upon  my  petting 
or  soothing  or  feeding,  sitting  by  them  and  feed- 
ing them  their  dinner  or  supper —  some  are  quite 

helpless,  some  wounded  in  both  arms  —  or  giving 

84 


(  ; 


-mmm 


I     ' 


Letters  of  1862-3 

some  trifle  (for  a  novelty  or  a  change,  it  is  n't  for 
the  value  of  it),  or  stopping  a  little  while  with  them. 
Nobody  will  do  but  me  —  so,  mother,  I  feel  as 
though  I  would  like  to  inaugurate  a  plan  by 
which  I  could  raise  means  on  my  own  hook,  and 
perhaps  quite  plenty  too.  Best  love  to  you,  dear- 
est mother,  and  to  sister  Mat,  and  Jeff.    Walt. 


XIV 


f  'I  • 


'  1  •! 


Washington,  Monday  morning,  June  22,  i86j. 
Dear  Mother  —  Jeff's  letter  came  informing 
me  of  the  birth  of  the  little  girl,*  and  that 
Matty  was  feeling  pretty  well,  so  far.  I  hope  it 
will  continue.  Dear  sister,  I  should  much  like 
to  come  home  and  see  you  and  the  little  one ; 
I  am  sure  from  Jeff's  description  it  is  a  noble 
babe  —  and  as  to  its  being  a  girl,  it  is  all  the  better. 
(I  am  not  sure  but  the  Whitman  breed  gives  bet- 
ter women  than  men.) 

Well,  mother,  we  are  generally  anticipating  a 
lively  time  here,  or  in  the  neighborhood,  as  it  is 
probable  Lee  is  feeling  about  to  strike  a  blow  on 
Washington,  or  perhaps  right  into  it  —  and  as 
Lee  is  no  fool,  it  is  perhaps  possible  \}-i  may  give 
us  a  good  shake.  He  is  not  very  fai  off —  yes- 
terday was  a  fight  to  the  southwest  of  here  all 
day ;  we  heard  the  cannons  nearly  all  day.  The 
wounded  are  arriving  in  small  squads  every  day, 
mostly  cavalry,  a  great  many  Ohio  men ;    they 

^  Jessie  Louisa  Whitman. 
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send  off  to-day  from  the  Washington  hospitals 
a  great  many  to  New  York,  Philadelphia,  etc.,  all 
who  are  able,  to  make  room,  which  looks  omi- 
nous—  indeed,  it  is  pretty  certain  that  there  is  to 
be  some  severe  fighting,  may-be  a  great  battle 
again,  the  pending  week.  I  am  getting  so  cal- 
lous that  it  hardly  arouses  me  aL  all.  I  fancy 
I  should  take  it  very  quietly  if  I  found  my- 
self in  the  midst  of  a  desperate  conflict  here  in 
Washington. 

Mother,  I  have  nothing  particular  to  write 
about  —  I  see  and  hear  nothing  but  new  and  old 
cases  of  my  poor  suflFering  boys  in  hospitals,  and 
I  dare  say  you  have  had  enough  of  such  things. 
I  have  not  missed  a  day  at  hospital,  I  think,  for 
more  than  three  weeks  —  I  get  more  and  more 
wound  round.  Poor  young  men  —  there  are 
some  cases  that  would  literally  sink  and  give  up 
if  I  did  not  pass  a  portion  of  the  time  with  them. 
I  have  quite  made  up  my  mind  about  the  lectur- 
ing, etc.,  project —  I  have  no  doubt  it  will  succeed 
well  enough  the  way  I  shall  put  it  in  operation. 
You  know,  mother,  it  is  to  raise  funds  to  en- 
able me  to  continue  my  hospital  ministrations, 
on  a  more  free-handed  scale.  As  to  the  Sanitary 
commissions  and  the  like,  I  am  sick  of  them  all, 
and  would  not  accept  any  of  their  berths.  You 
ought  to  see  the  way  the  men,  as  they  lay  helpless 
in  bed,  turn  away  their  faces  from  the  sight  of 
those  agents,  chaplains,  etc.  (hirelings,  as  Elias 
Hicks  would  call  them  —  they  seem  to  me  always 

a  set  of  foxes  and  wolves).  They  get  well  paid,  and 

86 


'I'l 


Letters  of  1862—3 

are  always  incompetent  and  disagreeable ;  as  I 
told  you  before,  the  only  good  fellows  I  have  met 
are  the  Christian  commissioners  —  they  go  every- 
where and  receive  no  pay. 

Dear,  dear  mother,  I  want  much  to  see  you,  and 
dear  Matty  too ;  I  send  you  both  my  best  love, 
and  Jeff  too.  The  pictures  came  —  I  have  not 
heard  from  George  nor  Han.  I  write  a  day  ear- 
lier than  usual.     Walt. 

We  here  think  Vicksburg  is  ours.  The  prob- 
ability is  that  it  has  capitulated  —  and  there  has 
been  no  general  assault  —  can't  tell  yet  whether 
the  51st  went  there.  We  are  having  very  fine 
weather  here  to-day  —  rained  last  night. 


Mt     i 


XV 


Washington,  June  30th,  18  6 j.  Dearest 
Mother  — Your  letter,  with  Han's,  I  have  sent 
to  George,  though  whether  it  will  find  him  or  not 
I  cannot  tell,  as  I  think  the  51st  must  be  away 
down  at  Vicksburg.  I  have  not  had  a  word  from 
George  yet.  Mother,  I  have  had  quite  an  attack 
of  sore  throat  and  distress  in  my  head  for  some 
days  past,  up  to  last  night,  but  to-day  I  feel  nearly 
all  right  again.  I  have  been  about  the  city  same 
as  usual  nearly  —  to  the  hospitals,  etc.,  I  mean. 
I  am  told  that  I  hover  too  much  over  the  beds 
of  the  hospitals,  with  fever  and  putrid  wounds, 
etc.  One  soldier  brought  here  about  fifteen  days 
ago,  very    low  with   typhoid   fever,    Livingston 

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The  Wound   Dresser 

Brooks,  Co.  B.,  17th  Penn.  Cavalry,  I  have  par- 
ticularly stuck  to,  as  I  found  him  to  be  in  what 
appeared  to  be  i  dying  condition,  from  negligence 
and  a  horrible  journey  of  about  forty  miles,  bad 
roads  and  fast  driving ;  and  then  after  he  got  here, 
as  he  is  a  simple  country  boy,  very  shy  and  silent, 
and  made  no  complaint,  they  neglected  him.  I 
found  him  something  like  I  found  John  Holmes 
last  winter.  I  called  the  doctor's  attention  to 
him,  shook  up  the  nurses,  had  him  bathed  in 
spirits,  gave  him  lumps  of  ice,  and  ice  to  his  head ; 
he  had  a  fearful  bursting  pain  in  his  head,  and 
his  body  was  like  fire.  He  was  very  quiet,  a  very 
sensible  boy,  old  fashioned ;  he  did  not  want  to 
die,  and  I  had  to  lie  to  him  without  stint,  for  he 
thought  I  knew  everything,  and  I  always  put  in 
of  course  that  what  I  told  him  was  exactly  the 
truth,  and  that  if  he  got  really  dangerous  I  would 
tell  him  and  not  conceal  it.  The  rule  is  to  re- 
move bad  fever  patients  out  from  the  main  wards 
to  a  tent  by  themselves,  and  the  doctor  told  me 
he  would  have  to  be  removed.  I  broke  it  gently 
to  him,  but  the  poor  boy  got  it  immediately  in 
his  head  that  he  was  marked  with  death,  and  was 
to  be  removed  on  that  account.  It  had  a  great 
effect  upon  him,  and  although  I  told  the  truth 
this  time  it  did  not  have  as  good  a  result  as  my 
former  fibs.  I  persuaded  the  doctor  to  let  him 
remain.  For  three  days  he  lay  just  about  an  even 
chance,  go  or  stay,  with  a  little  leaning  toward 
the  first.     But,  mother,  to   make  a  long  story 

short,  he  is  now  out  of  any   immediate  danger. 

88 


Letters  of  1862—3 

He  has  been  perfectly  rational  throughout  — 
begins  to  taste  a  little  food  (for  a  week  he  ate 
nothing ;  I  had  to  compel  him  to  take  a  quarter  of 
an  orange  now  and  then),  and  i  will  say,  whether 
anyone  calls  it  pride  or  not,  that  if  he  does  get  up 
and  around  again  it  *s  me  that  saved  his  life. 
Mother,  as  I  have  said  in  former  letters,  you  can 
have  no  idea  how  these  sick  and  dying  youngsters 
cling  to  a  fellow,  and  how  fascinating  it  is,  with 
all  its  hospital  surroundings  of  sadness  and  scenes 
of  repulsion  and  death.  In  this  same  hospital, 
Armory-square,  where  this  cavalry  boy  is,  I  have 
about  fifteen  or  twenty  particular  cases  I  see  much 
to — some  of  them  as  much  as  him.  There  are 
two  from  East  Brooklyn :  George  Monk,  Co.  A, 
78th  N.  Y.,  and  Stephen  Redgate  (his  mother  is 
a  widow  in  East  Brooklyn  —  I  have  written  to 
her).  Both  are  pretty  badly  wounded — both  are 
youngsters  under  19.  O  mother,  it  seems  to 
to  me  as  I  go  through  these  rows  of  cots  as  if  it 
was  too  bad  to  accept  these  children,  to  subject 
them  to  such  premature  experiences.  I  devote 
myself  much  to  Armory-square  hospital  because 
it  contains  by  far  the  worst  cases,  most  repulsive 
wounds,  has  the  most  suffering  and  most  need  of 
consolation.  I  go  every  day  without  fail,  and 
often  at  night  —  sometimes  stay  very  late.  No 
one  interferes  with  me,  guards,  nurses,  doctors, 
nor  anyone.     I  am  let  to  take  my  own  course. 

Well,  mother,  I  suppose  you  folks  think  we 
are  in  a  somewhat  dubious  position  here  in  Wash- 
ington, with  Lee  in  strong  force  almost  between 

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The  Wound  Dresser 

us  and  you  Northerners.  Well,  it  does  look 
ticklish ;  if  the  Rebs  cut  the  connection  then 
there  will  be  fun.  The  Reb  cavalry  come  quite 
near  us,  dash  in  and  steal  wagon  trains,  etc. ; 
it  would  be  funny  if  they  should  come  some 
night  to  the  President's  country  house  (Soldiers* 
home),  where  he  goes  out  to  sleep  every  night ; 
it  is  in  the  same  direction  as  their  saucy  raid  last 
Sunday.  Mr.  Lincoln  passes  here  (14th  st.) 
every  evening  on  his  way  out.  I  noticed  him 
last  evening  about  half-past  6  —  he  was  in  his 
barouche,  two  horses,  guarded  by  about  thirty 
cavalry.  The  barouche  comes  first  under  a  slow 
trot,  driven  by  one  man  in  the  box,  no  servant 
or  footman  beside ;  the  cavalry  all  follow  closely 
after  with  a  lieutenant  at  their  head.  I  had  a 
good  view  of  the  President  last  evening.  He 
looks  more  careworn  eve  1  than  usual,  his  face 
with  deep  cut  lines,  seams,  and  his  complexion  gray 
through  very  dark  skin —  a  curious  looking  man, 
very  sad.  I  said  to  a  lady  who  was  looking  with 
me,  "  Who  can  see  that  man  without  losing  all 
wish  to  be  sharp  upon  him  personally  ?  '*  The 
lady  assented,  although  she  is  almost  vindictive 
on  the  course  of  the  administration  (thinks  it 
wants  nerve,  etc.  —  the  usual  complaint).  The 
equipage  is  rather  shabby,  horses  indeed  almost 
what  my  friends  the  Broadway  drivers  would  call 
old  plugs.  The  President  dresses  in  plain  black 
clothes,  cylinder  hat  —  he  was  alone  yesterday. 
As  he  came  up,  he  first  drove  over  to  the  house 
of  the  Sec.  or  War,  on  K  st.,  about  300  feet  from 

90 


Letters  of  1862—3 

here ;  sat  in  his  carriage  while  Stanton  came  out 
and  had  a  15  minutes  interview  with  him  (I  can 
see  from  my  window),  and  then  wheeled  around 
the  corner  and  up  Fourteenth  st.,  the  cavalry- 
after  him.  I  really  think  it  would  be  safer  for 
him  just  now  to  stop  at  the  White  House,  but  I 
expect  he  is  too  proud  to  abandon  the  former 
custom.  Then  about  an  hour  after  we  had  a 
large  cavalry  regiment  pass,  with  blankets,  arms, 
etc.,  on  the  war  march  over  the  same  track.  The 
regt.  was  very  full,  over  a  thousand  —  indeed 
thirteen  or  fourteen  hundred.  It  was  an  old 
regt.,  veterans,  old  fighters^  young  as  they  were. 
They  were  preceded  by  a  fine  mounted  band  of 
sixteen  (about  ten  bugles,  the  rest  cymbals  and 
drums).  I  tell  you,  mother,  it  made  everything 
ring  —  made  my  heart  leap.  They  played  with 
a  will.  Tiien  the  accompaniment :  the  sabers 
rattled  on  a  thousand  men's  sides  —  they  had 
pistols,  their  heels  were  spurred  —  handsome 
American  young  men  (I  make  no  acc*t  of  any 
other)  ;  rude  uniforms,  well  worn,  but  good  cat- 
tle, prancing — all  good  riders,  full  of  the  devil ; 
nobody  shaved,  very  sunburnt.  The  regimental 
officers  (splendidly  mounted,  but  just  as  roughly 
dressed  as  the  men)  came  immediately  after  the 
band,  then  company  after  company,  with  each 
its  officers  at  its  head  —  the  tramps  of  so  many 
horses  (there  is  a  good  hard  turnpike)  —  then 
a  long  train  of  men  with  led  horses,  mounted 
negroes,  and  a  long,  long  string  if  baggage 
wagons,  each  with  four  horses,  and  then  a  strong 

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rear  guard.  I  tell  you  it  had  the  look  of  real 
war  —  noble  looking  fellows  ;  a  man  feels  so 
proud  on  a  good  horse,  and  armed.  They  are 
off  toward  the  region  of  Lee's  (supposed)  ren- 
dezvous, toward  Susquehannah,  for  the  great  anti- 
cipated battle.  Alas!  how  many  of  these  healthy, 
handsome,  rollicking  young  men  will  lie  cold  in 
death  before  the  apples  ripen  in  the  orchard. 
Mother,  it  is  curious  and  stirring  here  in  some 
respects.  Smaller  or  larger  bodies  of  troops  are 
moving  continually  —  many  just-well  men  are 
turned  out  of  the  hospitals.  I  am  where  I  see 
a  good  deal  of  them.  There  are  getting  to  be 
many  black  troops.  There  is  one  very  good  regt. 
here  black  as  tar ;  they  go  around,  have  the  regu- 
lar uniform  —  they  submit  to  no  nonsense. 
Others  are  constantly  forming.  It  is  getting  to 
be  a  common  sight.  [The  rest  of  the  letter  is 
lost,  —  Ed.] 


!  .T 


\i  ,'i 


XVI 

Washington,  July  lo,  i86j.  Dear  Mother  — 
I  suppose  you  rec*d  a  letter  from  me  last  Wednes- 
day, as  I  sent  you  one  Tuesday  (7th).  Dear 
mother,  I  was  glad  enough  to  hear  from  George, 
by  that  letter  from  Snyder's  Bluffs,  June  28th. 
I  had  felt  a  little  fear  on  acc't  of  some  of 
those  storming  parties  Grant  sent  against  Vicks- 
burg  the  middle  of  June  and  up  to  the  20th 
—  but  this  letter  dispels  all  anxiety.  I  have 
written  to  George  many  times,  but  it  seems  he 

92 


»IJ' 


Letters  of  1862—3 

has  not  got  them.  Mother,  I  shall  write  imme- 
diately to  him  again.  I  think  he  will  get  the 
letter  I  sent  last  Sunday,  as  I  directed  it  to  Vicks- 
burg  —  I  told  him  all  the  news  from  home. 
Mother,  I  shall  write  to  Han  and  enclose  George's 
letter.  I  am  real  glad  to  hear  from  Mat  and 
the  little  one,  all  so  favorable.  We  are  having 
pleasant  weather  here  still.  I  go  to  Campbell  hos- 
pital this  afternoon — I  still  keep  going,  mother. 
The  wounded  are  doing  rather  badly ;  I  am  sorry 
to  say  there  are  frequent  deaths  —  the  weather, 
I  suppose,  which  has  been  peculiarly  bad  for 
wounds,  so  wet  and  warm  (though  not  disagree- 
able outdoors).  Mother,  you  must  write  as  often 
as  you  can,  and  Jeff  too  —  you  must  not  get 
worried  about  the  ups  and  downs  of  the  war; 
I  don't  know  any  course  but  to  resign  oneself 
to  events  —  if  one  can  only  bring  one's  mind  to  it. 
Good-bye  once  more,  for  the  present,  dearest 
mother.  Mat,  and  the  dear  little  ones.  Walt. 
Mother,  do  you  ever  hear  from  Mary?^ 

XVII 

W^ashingtofiy  Wednesday  forenoon,  July  75, 18 6 j. 
Dear  Mother  —  So  the  mob  has  risen  at  last 
in  New  York  —  I  have  been  expecting  it,  but 
as  the  day  for  the  draft  had  arrived  and  every- 
thing was  so  quiet,  I  supposed  all  might  go 
on  smoothly ;   but  it  seems  the  passions  of  the 

1  His    sister,  Mary  Elizabeth  Whitman    (Mrs.  Van   Nostrand) 
born  1 821  now  (1897)  residing  in  Sag  Harbor,  L.  I. 

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The  Wound  Dresser 

people  were  only  sleeping,  and  have  burst  forth 
with  terrible  fury,  and  they  have  destroyed  life 
and  property,  the  enrolment  buildings,  etc.,  as  we 
hear.  The  accounts  we  get  are  a  good  deal  in 
a  muddle,  but  it  seems  bad  enough.  The  feel- 
ing here  is  savage  and  hot  as  fire  against  New 
York  (the  mob  —  "  Copperhead  mob  "  the  papers 
here  call  it),  and  I  hear  nothing  in  all  directions 
but  threats  of  ordering  up  the  gunboats,  can- 
nonading the  city,  shooting  down  the  mob, 
hanging  them  in  a  body,  etc.,  etc.  Meantime 
I  remain  silent,  partly  amused,  partly  scornful, 
or  occasionally  put  a  dry  remark,  which  only 
adds  fuel  to  the  flame.  I  do  not  feel  it  in  my 
heart  to  abuse  the  poor  people,  or  call  for  a  rope 
or  bullets  for  them,  but^  that  is  all  the  talk  here, 
even  in  the  hospitals.  The  acc'ts  from  N.  Y. 
this  morning  are  that  the  Gov't  has  ordered 
the  draft  to  be  suspended  there  —  I  hope  it  is 
true,  for  I  find  that  the  deeper  they  go  in  with 
the  draft,  the  more  trouble  it  is  likely  to  make. 
I  have  changed  my  opinion  and  feelings  on  the 
subject  —  we  are  in  the  midst  of  strange  and 
terrible  times  —  one  is  pulled  a  dozen  different 
ways  in  his  mind,  and  hardly  knows  what  to 
think  or  do.  Mother,  I  have  not  much  fear  that 
the  troubles  in  New  York  will  affect  any  of  our 
family,  still  I  feel  somewhat  uneasy  about  Jeff, 
if  any  one,  as  he  is  more  around.  I  have  had  it 
much  on  my  mind  what  could  be  done,  if  it 
should  so  happen  that  Jeff  should  be  drafted  — 
of  course  he  could  not  go  without  its  being  the 

9+ 


Letters  of  1862—3 

downfall  almost  of  our  whole  family,  as  you  may 
say,  Mat  and  his  young  ones,  and  sad  blow  to 
you  too,  mother,  and  to  all.  I  did  n*t  see  any 
other  way  than  to  try  to  raise  the  $300,  mostly 
by  borrowing  if  possible  of  Mr.  Lane.  Mother, 
I  have  no  doubt  I  shall  make  a  few  hundred 
dollars  by  the  lectures  I  shall  certainly  commence 
soon  (for  my  hospital  missionary  purposes  and 
my  own,  for  that  purpose),  and  I  could  lend  that 
am*t  to  JefF  to  pay  it  back.  May- be  the 
draft  will  not  come  off  after  all ;  I  should  say  it 
was  very  doubtful  if  they  can  carry  it  out 
in  N.  Y.  and  Brooklyn  —  and  besides,  it  is  only 
one  chance  out  of  several,  to  be  drawn  if  it 
does.  I  don't  wonder  dear  brother  JefF  feels  the 
effect  it  would  have  on  domestic  affairs  ;  I  think 
it  is  right  to  feel  so,  full  as  strongly  as  a  man 
can.  I  do  hope  all  will  go  well  and  without 
such  an  additional  trouble  falling  upon  us,  but  as 
it  can  be  met  with  money,  I  hope  JefF  and  Mat 
and  all  of  you,  dear  mother,  will  not  worry  any 
more  about  it.  I  wrote  to  JefF  a  few  lines  last 
Sunday,  I  suppose  he  got.  Mother,  I  don't 
know  whether  you  have  had  a  kind  of  gloomy 
week  the  past  week,  but  somehow  I  feel  as  if 
you  all  had ;  but  I  hope  it  has  passed  over. 
How  is  dear  sister  Mat,  and  how  is  Miss  Manna- 
hatta,  and  little  Black  Head  ?  I  sometimes  feel 
as  if  I  must  come  home  and  see  you  all  —  I  want 
to  very  much. 

My  hospital  life  still  continues  the  same  —  I 
was    in   Armory   all    day   yesterday  —  and    day 

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The  Wound   Dresser 

and  night  before.  They  have  the  men  wounded 
in  the  railroad  accident  at  Laurel  station  (bet. 
here  and  Baltimore),  about  30  soldiers,  some 
of  them  horribly  injured  at  3  o'clock  A.  M.  last 
Saturday  by  collision  —  poor,  poor,  poor  men. 
I  go  again  this  afternoon  and  night  —  I  see  so 
much  of  butcher  sights,  so  much  sickness  and 
suffering,  I  must  get  away  a  while,  I  believe,  for 
self-preservation.  I  have  felt  quite  well  though 
the  past  week  —  we  have  had  rain  continually. 
Mother,  I  have  not  heard  from  George  since, 
have  you  ?  I  shall  write  Han  to-day  and  send 
George's  letter  —  if  you  or  JefF  has  not  written 
this  week,  I  hope  Jeff  will  write  on  receiving  this. 
Good-bye  for  present,  dearest  mother,  and  Jeff, 
and  Mat.     Walt. 

Mother,  the  army  is  to  be  paid  off  two  months 
more,  right  away.  Of  course  George  will  get 
two  months  more  pay.  Dear  mother,  I  hope  you 
will  keep  untouched  and  put  in  bank  every  cent 
you  can.  I  want  us  to  have  a  ranch  somewhere 
by  or  before  next  spring. 


■j> 


I! 


XVIII 

JVashington^  Aug.  11,  i86j.     Dear  Mother 

—  I  sent  Jeff  a  letter  on  Sunday — I  suppose  he 

got  it  at  the  office.      I  feel  so  anxious  to  hear 

from    George ;    one  cannot  help    feeling  uneasy, 

although  these   days   sometimes   it  cannot  help 

96 


I      I 


•HER 

je  he 
hear 


Letters  of  1862—3 

being  long  intervals  without  one's  hearing  from 
friends  in  the  army.  O  I  do  hope  we  shall  hear 
soon,  and  that  it  is  all  right  with  him.  It  seems 
as  if  the  9th  Corps  had  returned  to  Vicksburg, 
and  some  acc'ts  say  that  part  of  the  Corps  had 
started  to  come  up  the  river  again  —  toward 
Kentucky,  I  suppose.  I  have  sent  George  two 
letters  within  a  week  past,  hoping  they  might 
have  the  luck  to  get  to  him,  but  hardly  expect  it 
either. 

Mother,  I  feel  very  sorry  to  hear  Andrew  is  so 
troubled  in  his  throat  yet.  I  know  it  must  make 
you  feel  very  unhappy.  Jeff  wrote  me  a  good 
deal  about  it,  and  seems  to  feel  very  bad  about 
Andrew's  being  unwell ;  but  I  hope  it  will  go 
over,  and  that  a  little  time  will  make  him  recover 
—  I  think  about  it  every  day. 

Mother,  it  has  been  the  hottest  weather  here 
that  I  ever  experienced,  and  still  continues  so. 
Yesterday  and  last  night  was  the  hottest.  Still,  I 
slept  sound,  have  good  ventilation  through  my 
room,  little  as  it  is  (I  still  hire  the  same  room  in  L 
street).  I  was  quite  wet  with  sweat  this  morning 
when  I  woke  up,  a  thing  I  never  remember  to 
have  happened  to  me  before,  for  I  was  not  dis- 
turbed in  my  sleep  and  did  not  wake  up  once  all 
night.  Mother,  I  believe  I  did  not  tell  you  that 
on  the  ist  of  June  (or  a  while  before)  the 
O'Connors,  the  friends  I  took  my  meals  with  so 
long,  moved  to  other  apartments  for  more  room 
and  pleasanter  —  not  far  off  though,  I  am  there 
every  day  almost,  a  little  —  so  for  nearly  two 
7  97 


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The  Wound   Dresser 

months  and  a  half  I  have  been  in  the  habit  of 
getting  my  own  breakfast  in  my  room  and  my 
dinner  at  a  restaurant.  I  have  a  little  spirit  lamp, 
and  always  have  a  capital  cup  of  tea,  and  some 
bread,  and  perhaps  some  preserved  fruit;  for 
dinner  I  get  a  good  plate  of  meat  and  plenty 
of  potatoes,  good  and  plenty  for  25  or  30 
cents.  I  hardly  ever  take  any  thing  more  than 
these  two  meals,  both  of  them  are  pretty  hearty 

—  eat  dinner  about  3  —  my  appetite  is  plenty 
good  enough,  and  I  am  about  as  fleshy  as  I  was 
in  Brooklyn.  Mother,  I  feel  better  the  last  ten 
days,  and  at  present,  than  I  did  the  preceding  six 
or  eight  weeks.  There  was  nothing  particular  the 
matter  with  me,  but  I  suppose  a  different  climate 
and  being  so  continually  in  the  hospitals  —  but 
as  I  say,  I  feel  better,  more  strength,  and  better  in 
my  head,  etc.  About  the  wound  in  my  hand  and 
the  inflammation,  etc.,  it  has  thoroughly  healed, 
and  I  have  not  worn  anything  on  my  hand,  nor 
had  any  dressing  for  the  last  five  days.  Mother, 
I  hope  you  get  along  with  the  heat,  for  I  see  it 
is  as  bad  or  worse  in  New  York  and  Brooklyn 

—  I  am  afraid  you  sufl^er  from  it ;  it  must  be 
distressing  to  you.  Dear  mother,  do  let  things 
go,  and  just  sit  still  and  fan  yourself.  I  think 
about  you  these  hot  days.  I  fancy  I  see  you 
down  there  in  the  basement.  I  suppose  you 
have  your  coflfee  for  breakfast ;  I  have  not  had 
three  cups  of  coffee  in  six  months  —  tea  altogether 
(I  must  come  home  and  have  some  coffee  for 
breakfast  with  you). 

98 


Letters  of  1862—3 

Mother,  I  wrote  to  you  about  Erastus  Haskell, 
Co.  K,  141st,  N.  Y.  —  his  father,  poor  old  man, 
come  on  here  to  see  him  and  found  him  dead 
three  days.  He  had  the  body  embalmed  and  took 
home.  They  are  poor  folks  but  very  respectable. 
I  was  at  the  hospital  yesterday  as  usual  —  I 
never  miss  a  day.  I  go  by  my  feelings  —  if  I 
should  feel  that  it  would  be  better  for  me  to  lay 
by  for  a  while,  I  should  do  so,  but  not  while  I 
feel  so  well  as  I  do  the  past  week,  for  all  the  hot 
weather ;  and  while  the  chance  lasts  I  would  im- 
prove it,  for  by  and  by  the  night  cometh  when  no 
man  can  work  (ain*t  I  getting  pious !).  I  got  a 
letter  from  Probasco  yesterday ;  he  sent  ^4  for  my 
sick  and  wounded  —  I  wish  Jeff  to  tell  him  that 
it  came  right,  and  give  him  the  men's  thanks  and 
my  love. 

Mother,  have  you  heard  anything  from  Han  ? 
And  about  Mary's  Fanny  —  I  hope  you  will  write 
me  soon  and  tell  me  everything,  tell  me  exactly  as 
things  are,  but  I  know  you  will  —  I  want  to  hear 
family  affairs  before  anything  else.  I  am  so  glad 
to  hear  Mat  is  good  and  hearty  —  you  must  write 
me  about  Hat  and  little  Black  Head  too.  Mother, 
how  is  Eddy  getting  along  ?  and  Jess,  is  he  about 
the  same  .?  I  suppose  Will  Brown  is  home  all 
right ;  tell  him  I  spoke  about  him,  and  the  Browns 
too.  Dearest  mother,  I  send  you  my  love,  and  to 
Jeff  too  —  must  write  when  you  can.     Walt. 


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The  Wound   Dresser 

XIX 

PFashingtofiy  Jug,  iS,  i86j.  DearMother — 
I  was  mighty  glad  to  get  George's  letter,  I  can 
tell  you  —  you  have  not  heard  since,  I  suppose. 
They  must  be  now  back  again  in  Kentucky,  or  that 
way,  as  I  see  [by]  a  letter  from  Cairo  (up  the  Mis- 
sissippi river)  that  boats  had  stopt  there  with  the 
9th  Corps  on  from  Vicksburg,  going  up  towards 
Cincinnati  —  I  think  the  letter  was  dated  Aug.  10. 
I  have  no  doubt  they  are  back  again  up  that  way 
somewhere.  I  wrote  to  George  four  or  five  days 
ago  —  I  directed  it  Ohio,  Mississippi,  or  elsewhere. 
Mother,  I  was  very  glad  indeed  to  get  your  letter 
—  I  am  so  sorry  Andrew  does  not  get  any  better ; 
it  is  very  distressing  about  losing  the  voice ;  he 
must  not  be  so  much  alarmed,  as  that  continues 
some  times  years  and  the  health  otherwise  good. 

Mother,  I  wrote  to 

Han  about  five  days  ago ;  told  her  we  had  heard 
from  George,  and  all  the  news  —  I  must  write  to 
Mary  too,  without  fail  —  I  should  like  to  hear 
from  them  all,  and  from  Fanny.  There  has  been 
a  young  man  here  in  hospital,  from  Farmingdale ; 
he  was  wounded;  his  name  is  Hendrickson;  he  has 
gone  home  on  a  furlough ;  he  knows  the  Van  Nos- 
trands  very  well  —  I  told  him  to  go  and  see  Aunt 
Fanny.  J  was  glad  you  gave  Emma  Price  my 
direction  here;  I  should  [like]  to  hear  from  Mrs. 
Price  and  her  girls  first  rate,  I  think  a  great  deal 
about  them  —  and  mother,  I  wish  you  to  tell  any 

of  them  so;  they  always  used  me  first  rate,  and 

100 


can 


Letters  of  1862—3 

always  stuck  up  for  me  —  if  I  knew  their  street 
and  number  I  should  write. 

It  has  been  awful  hot  here  now  for  twenty -one 
days ;  ain't  that  a  spell  of  weather  P  The  first  two 
weeks  I  got  along  better  than  I  would  have 
thought,  but  the  last  week  I  have  felt  it  more, 
have  felt  it  in  my  head  a  little  —  I  no  more  stir 
without  my  umbrella,  in  the  day  time,  than  I 
would  without  my  boots.  I  am  afraid  of  the  sun 
affecting  my  head  and  move  pretty  cautious. 
Mother,  I  think  every  day,  I  wonder  if  the  hot 
weather  is  affecting  mother  much;  I  suppose  it 
must  a  good  deal,  but  I  hope  it  cannot  last  much 
longer.  Mother,  I  had  a  letter  in  the  N.  Y. 
Times  of  last  Sunday  —  did  you  see  it  ?  I  won- 
der if  George  can't  get  a  furlough  and  come 
home  for  a  while ;  that  furlough  he  had  was  only 
a  flea-bite.  If  he  could  it  would  be  no  more 
than  right,  for  no  man  in  the  country  has  done 
his  duty  more  faithful,  and  without  complaining 
of  anything  or  asking  for  anything,  than  George. 
I  suppose  they  will  fill  up  the  51st  with  con- 
scripts, as  that  seems  the  order  of  the  day  —  a 
good  many  are  arriving  here,  from  the  North, 
and  passing  through  to  Join  Meade's  army.  We 
are  expecting  to  hear  of^  more  rows  in  New  York 
about  the  draft ;  it  commences  there  right  away  I 
see  —  this  time  it  will  be  no  such  doings  as  a 
month  or  five  weeks  ago ;  the  Gov't  here  is  for- 
warding a  large  force  of  regulars  to  New  York 
to  be  ready  for  anything  that  may  happen — there 
will  be  no  blank  cartridges  this  time.     Well,  1 

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The  Wound   Dresser 

thought  when  I  first  heard  of  the  riot  in  N,  Y. 
I  had  some  feeling  for  them,  but  soon  as  I 
found  what  it  really  was,  I  felt  it  was  the  devil's 
own  work  all  through.  I  guess  the  strong  arm 
will  be  exhibited  this  time  up  to  the  shoulder. 
Mother,  I  want  to  see  you  and  all  very  much. 
As  I  wish  to  be  here  at  the  opening  of  Congress, 
and  during  the  winter,  I  have  an  idea  I  will  try  to 
come  home  for  a  month,  but  I  don*t  know  when 
—  I  want  to  see  the  young  ones  and  Mat  and  Jeff 
and  everybody.  Well,  mother,  I  should  like  to 
know  all  the  domestic  affairs  at  home ;  don't  you 
have  the  usual  things  eating,  etc.  ?  Why,  mother, 
I  should  think  you  would  eat  nearly  all  your 
meals  with  Mat  —  I  know  you  must  when  they 
have  anything  good  (and  I  know  Mat  will  have 
good  things  if  she  has  got  a  cent  left).  Mother, 
don't  you  miss  PFaU  loafing  around,  and  carting 
himself  off  to  New  York  toward  the  latter  part 
of  every  afternoon  ?  How  do  you  and  the  Browns 
get  along  ?  —  that  hell  hole  over  the  way,  what  a 
nuisance  it  must  be  nights,  and  I  generally  have 
a  very  good  sleep.  Mother,  I  suppose  you  sleep 
in  the  back  room  yet — I  suppose  the  new  houses 
next  door  are  occupied.  How  I  should  like  to 
take  a  walk  on  old  Fort  Greene  —  tell  Manna- 
hatta  her  Uncle  Walt  will  be  home  yet,  from  the 
sick  soldiers,  and  have  a  good  walk  all  around,  if 
she  behaves  to  her  grandmother  and  don't  cut 
up.  Mother,  I  am  scribbling  this  hastily  in 
Major  Hapgood's  office ;  it  is  not  so  hot  to- 
day, quite  endurable.     I  send  you  my  love,  dear 

102 


ler. 


Letters  of  1862-3 

mother,  and  to  all,  and  wish  JefF  and  you  to 
write  as  often  as  you  can.     Walt. 


XX 

Washington^  Au^.  ^5, 18 6 j.    Dear  Mother — 

The  letter  from  George,  and  your  lines,  and  a  few 

from  J  e/f  came  yesterday,  and  1  was  glad  indeed  to 

be  certain  that  George  had  got  back  to  Kentucky 

safe  and  well  —  while  so  many  fall  that  we  know, 

or,  what  is  about  as  bad,  get  sick  or  hurt  in  the 

fight,  and  lay  in  hospital,  it  seems  almost  a  miracle 

that  George  should  have  gone  through  so  much, 

South  and  North  and  East  and  West,  and  been 

in  so  many  hard-fought  battles,  and  thousands  of 

miles  of  weary  and  exhausting  marches,  and  yet 

have  stood  it  so,  and  be  yet  alive  and  in  good 

health  and  spirits.     O   mother,  what  would  we 

[have]    done  if  it  had    been   otherwise  —  if  he 

had  met  the  fate  of  so  many  we  know  —  if  he 

had  been  killed  or  badly  hurt  in  some  of  those 

battles  ?     I  get  thinking  about  it  sometimes,  and 

it  works  upon  me  so  I  have  to  stop  and  turn 

my  mind    on    something   else.      Mother,  I   feel 

bad  enough  about  Andrew,  and  I  know  it  must 

be  so  with  you  too  —  one  don't  know  what  to 

do ;  if  we  had  money  he  would  be  welcome  to  it, 

if  it  would  do  any  good.     If  George's  money 

comes  from   Kentucky  this  last  time,  and    you 

think    some    of  it  would   do    Andrew  any  real 

good,  I  advise  you  to  take  some  and  give  him 

—  I  think  it  would  be  proper  and  George  would 

103 


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The  Wound   Dresser 

approve  of  it.  I  believe  there  is  not  much  but 
trouble  in  this  world,  and  if  one  has  n't  any  for 
himself  he  has  it  made  up  by  having  it  brought 
close  to  him  through  others,  and  that  is  sometimes 
worse  than  to  have  it  touch  one's  self  Mother, 
you  must  not  let  Andrew's  case  and  the  poor  con- 
dition of  his  household  comforts,  etc.,  work  upon 
you,  for  I  fear  you  will  —  but,  mother,  it 's  no  use 
to  worry  about  such  things.  I  have  seen  so  much 
horrors  that  befall  men  (so  bad  and  such  suffering 
and  mutilations,  etc.,  that  the  poor  men  can  defy 
their  fate  to  do  anything  more  or  any  harder  mis- 
fortune or  worse  a-going)  that  I  sometimes  think 
I  have  grown  callous  — but  no,  I  don't  think  it 
is  that,  but  nothing  of  ordinary  misfortune  seems 
as  it  used  to,  and  death  itself  has  lost  all  its  terrors 
—  I  have  seen  so  many  cases  in  which  it  was  so 
welcome  and  such  a  relief. 

Mother,  you  must  just  resign  yourself  to  things 
that  occur  —  but  I  hardly  think  it  is  necessary 
to  give  you  any  charge  abort  it,  for  I  think  you 
have  done  so  for  many  years,  and  stood  it  all  with 
good  courage. 

We  have  a  second  attack  of  hot  weather  — 
Sunday  was  the  most  burning  day  I  ever  yet  saw. 
It  is  very  dry  and  dusty  here,  but  to-day  we  are 
having  a  middling  good  breeze  —  I  feel  pretty 
well,  and  whenever  the  weather  for  a  day  or  so  is 
passably  cool  I  feel  really  first  rate,  so  I  antici- 
pate the  cooler  season  with  pleasure.  Mother,  I 
beheve  I  wrote  to  you  I  had  a  letter  in  N.  Y. 

Times,  Sunday,  i6th  —  I  shall  try  to  write  others 

104 


Letters  of  1862-3 

and  more  frequently.  The  three  Eagles  came 
safe ;  I  was  glad  to  get  them  —  I  sent  them  and 
another  paper  to  George.  Mother,  none  of  you 
ever  mention  whether  you  get  my  letters,  but  I 
suppose  they  come  safe  —  it  is  not  impossible  I 
may  miss  some  week,  but  I  have  not  missed  a 
single  one  for  months  past.  I  wish  I  could  send 
you  something  worth  while,  and  I  wish  I  could 
send  something  for  Andrew  —  mother,  write  me 

exactly  how  it  is  with  him 

Mother,  I  have  some  idea  Han  is  getting  some 
better;  it  is  only  my  idea  somehow — I  hope  it  is 
so  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  Did  you  hear 
from  Mary's  Fanny  since  ?  And  how  are  Mat's 
girls  ?  So,  Mannahatta,  you  tear  Uncle  George's 
letters,  do  you  ?  You  must  n't  do  so,  little  girl, 
nor  Uncle  Walt's  either ;  but  when  you  get  to  be 
a  big  girl  you  must  have  them  all  nice,  and  read 
them,  for  Grandmother  will  perhaps  leave  them 
to  you  in  her  will,  if  you  behave  like  a  lady. 
Matty,  my  dear  sister,  how  are  you  getting  along  ? 
I  really  want  to  see  you  bad,  and  the  baby  too  — 
well,  may-be  we  shall  all  come  together  and  have 
some  good  times  yet.  Jeff,  I  hope  by  next  week 
this  time  we  shall  be  in  possession  of  Charleston 
—  some  papers  say  Burnside  is  moving  for  Knox- 
ville,  but  it  is  doubtful  —  I  think  the  9th  Corps 
might  take  a  rest  awhile,  anyhow.  Good-bye, 
mother.     Walt. 


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The  Wound  Dresser 

XXI 

WashingtonySept.  Iyi86j,  Dear  Mother  — 
I  have  been  thinking  to-day  and  all  yesterday 
about  the  draft  in  Brooklyn,  and  whether  Jeff 
would  be  drafted ;  you  must  some  of  you  write 
me  just  as  soon  as  you  get  this —  I  want  to  know; 
I  feel  anxious  enough  I  can  tell  you  —  and  be- 
sides, it  seems  a  good  while  since  I  have  received 
any  letters  from  home.  Of  course  it  is  impossi- 
ble for  Jeff  to  go,  in  case  it  should  turn  out  he 
was  drafted  —  the  way  our  family  is  all  situated 
now,  it  would  be  madness.  If  the  Common 
Council  raise  the  money  to  exempt  men  with 
families  dependent  on  them,  I  think  Jeff  ought 
to  have  no  scruples  in  taking  advantage  of  it,  as 
I  think  he  is  in  duty  bound  —  but  we  will  see 
what  course  to  take,  when  we  know  the  result, 
etc. ;  write  about  it  right  away. 

The  Eagles  came ;  this  is  the  second  time ;  I 

am  glad  to  get  them  —  Jeff,  wait  till  you  get  four 

or  five,  and   then   send   them  with    a   two-cent 

stamp.     I  have  not  had  any  letter  from  George. 

Mother,  have  you  heard  anything  ?  did  the  money 

come  ?     Dear  mother,  how  are  you  nowadays  ? 

I  do  hope  you  feel  well  and  in  good  spirits  —  I 

think  about  you  every  day  of  my  life  out  here. 

Sometimes  I  see  women  in  the  hospitals,  mothers 

come  to  see  their  sons,  and  occasionally  one  that 

makes  me  think  of  my  dear  mother  —  one  did 

very  much,  a  lady  about  60,  from  Pennsylvania, 

come    to   see    her   son,   a   captain,   very    badly 

106 


Letters  of  1862—3 

wounded   and   his  wound   gangrened,  and  they 
after  a  while  removed  him  to  a  tent  by  himself. 
Another  son  of  hers,  a  young  man,  came  with 
her  to  see  his  brother.    She  was  a  pretty  full-sized 
lady,  with  spectacles ;  she  dressed  in  black  —  looked 
real  Velsory.*    I  got  very  well  acquainted  with 
her ;  she  had  a  real  Long  Island  old-fashioned 
way  —  but  I  had  to  avoid  the  poor  captain,  as  it 
was  that  time  that  my  hand  was  cut  in  the  artery, 
and  I  was  liable  to  gangrene  myself —  but  she . 
and  the  two  sons  have  gone  home  now,  but  I 
doubt  whether  the  wounded  one  is  alive,  as  he 
was  very  low.     Mother,   I  want  to  hear  about 
Andrew  too,  whether  he  went  to  Rockland  lake. 
You  have  no  idea  how  many  soldiers  there  are 
who  have  lost  their  voices,  and  have  to  speak  in 
whispers  —  there  are  a  great  many,  I  meet  some 
almost  every  day  ;  as  far  as   that  alone   is  con- 
cerned, Andrew  must  not  be  discouraged,  as  the 
general  health  may  be  good  as  common  irrespec- 
tive of  that.     I  do  hope  Andrew  will  get  along 
better  than  he  thinks  for  —  it  is  bad  enough  for 
a  poor  man  to  be  out  of  health  even  partially, 
but   he   must   try  to    look  on  the   bright  side. 
Mother,  have   you   heard   anything   from    Han 
since,  or  from  Mary*s  folks  ?     I  got  a  letter  from 
Mrs.  Price  last  week;  if  you  see  Emma  tell  her  I 
was  pleased  to  get  it,  and  shall  answer  it  very 
soon.     Mother,  I  have  sent  another  letter  to  the 
N.  Y.  Times  —  it  may  appear,  if  not  to-day,  within 
a  few  days.     I    am  feeling  excellent  well  these 

1  Mrs.  Whitman's  maiden  name  was  Louisa  Van  Velsor. 

107 


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The  Wound   Dresser 

days,  it  is  so  moderate  and  pleasant  weather  now ; 
I  was  getting  real  exhausted  with  the  heat.  I 
thought  of  you  too,  how  it  must  have  exhausted 
you  those  hot  days.  I  still  occupy  the  same  3rd 
story  room,  394  L  St.,  and  get  my  breakfast  in  my 
room  in  the  morning  myself,  and  dinner  at  a  res- 
taurant about  3  o'clock  —  I  get  along  very  well 
and  very  economical  (which  is  a  forced  put,  but  just 
as  well).  But  I  must  get  another  room  or  a  board- 
ing-house soon,  as  the  folks  are  all  going  to  move 
this  month.  My  good  and  real  friends  the 
O'Connors  live  in  the  same  block ;  I  am  in  there 
every  day.  Dear  mother,  tell  Mat  and  Miss 
Mannahatta  I  send  them  my  love  —  I  want  to 
see  them  both.  O  how  I  want  to  see  Jeff  and 
you,  mother ;  I  sometimes  feel  as  if  I  should  just 
get  in  the  cars  and  come  home  —  and  the  baby 
too,  you  must  always  write  about  her.  Dear 
mother,  good-bye  for  present.     Walt. 


XXII 

Washington,   Sept.   8,    i86j,    Tuesday  morning. 

Dearest    Mother  —  I   wrote   to   Jeff  Sunday 

last  that  his  letter  sent  Sept.  3rd,  containing  your 

letter  and  $^  from  Mr.  Lane,  had  miscarried  — 

this  morning  when  I  came  down  to  Major  Hap- 

good's  office  I  found  it  on  my  table,  so  it  is  all 

right  —  singular  where  it  has  been  all  this  while, 

as  I  see  the  postmark  on  it  is  Brooklyn,  Sept.  3, 

as  Jeff  said.     Mother,  what  to  uo  about  Andrew 

108 


\  1 


) 


Letters  of  1862-3 

I  hardly  know  —  as  it  is  I  feel  about  as  much 
pity  for  you  as  I  do  for  my  poor  brother  An- 
drew, for  I  know  you  will  worry  yourself  about 
him  all  the  time.  I  was  in  hopes  it  was  only  the 
trouble  about  the  voice,  etc.,  but  I  see  I  was  mis- 
taken, and  it  is  probably  worse.  I  know  you 
and  Jeff  and  Mat  will  do  all  you  can  —  and  will 
have  patience  with  all  (it  is  not  only  the  sick  who 
are  poorly  off,  but  their  friends  ;  but  it  is  best  to 
have  the  greatest  forbearance,  and  do  and  give, 
etc.,  whatever  one  can  —  but  you  know  that,  and 
practice  it  too,  dear  mother).  Mother,  if  I  had 
the  means,  O  how  cheerfully  I  would  give  them, 
whether  they  availed  anything  for  Andrew  or 
not  —  yet  I  have  long  made  up  my  mind  that 
money  does  not  amount  to  so  much,  at  least  not 
so  very  much,  in  serious  cases  of  sickness  ;  it  is 
judgment  both  in  the  person  himself,  and  in  those 
he  has  to  do  with — and  good  heart  in  everything. 
(Mother,  you  remember  Theodore  Gould,  how 
he  stuck  it  out,  though  sickness  and  death  has 
had  hold  of  him,  as  you  may  say,  for  fifteen  years.) 
But  anyhow,  I  hope  we  will  all  do  what  we  can 
for  Andrew.  Mother,  I  think  I  must  try  to 
come  home  for  a  month  —  I  have  not  given  up 
my  project  of  lecturing  I  spoke  about  before, 
but  shall  put  it  in  practice  yet ;  I  feel  clear  it  will 
succeed  enough.  (I  wish  I  had  some  of  the 
money  already ;  it  would  be  satisfaction  to  me  to 
contribute  something  to  Andrew's  necessities,  for 
he  must    have    bread.)     I  will  write  to  you,  of 

course,  before  I  come.     Mother,  I  hope  you  will 

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The  Wound   Dresser 

live  better  —  JefF  tells  me  you  and  Jess  and 
Ed  live  on  poor  stuff,  you  are  so  economical. 
Mother,  you  must  n't  do  so  as  long  as  you  have 
a  cent  —  I  hope  you  will,  at  least  four  or  five 
times  a  week,  have  a  steak  of  beef  or  mutton,  or 
something  substantial  for  dinner.  I  have  one 
good  meal  of  that  kind  every  day,  or  at  least  fivt 
or  six  days  out  of  the  seven  —  but  for  breakfast 
I  have  nothing  but  a  cup  of  tea  and  some  bread 
or  crackers  (first-rate  tea  though,  with  milk  and 
good  white  sugar).  Well,  I  find  it  is  hearty 
enough  —  more  than  half  the  time  I  never  eat 
anything  after  dinner,  and  when  I  do  it  is  only  a 
cracker  and  cup  of  tea.  Mother,  I  hope  you  will 
not  stint  yourselves  —  as  to  using  George's  money 
for  your  and  Jess's  and  Ed's  needful  living  ex- 
penses, I  know  George  would  be  mad  and  hurt 
in  his  feelings  if  he  thought  you  was  afraid  to. 
Mother,  you  have  a  comfortable  time  as  much  as 
you  can,  and  get  a  steak  occasionally,  won't  you  ? 
I  suppose  Mat  got  her  letter  last  Saturday  ;  I  sent 
it  Friday.  O  I  was  so  pleased  that  JefF  was  not 
drawn,  and  I  know  how  Mat  must  have  felt  too; 
I  have  no  idea  the  Government  will  try  to  draft 
again,  whatever  happens — they  have  carried  their 
point,  but  have  not  made  much  out  of  it.  O 
how  the  conscripts  and  substitutes  are  deserting 
down  in  front  and  on  their  way  there  —  you 
don't  hear  anything  about  it,  but  it  is  incredible 
—  they  don't  allow  it  to  get  in  the  papers. 
Mother,  I  was  so  glad  to  get  your  letter ;  you 

must  write  again  —  can't  you  write  to-morrow,  so 

no 


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Letters  of  1862-3 

I  can  get  it  Friday  or  Saturday  ?  —  you  know 
though  you  wrote  more  than  a  week  ago  I  did 
not  get  it  till  this  morning.  I  wish  JefF  to  write 
too,  as  often  as  he  can.  Mother,  I  was  gratified 
to  hear  you  went  up  among  the  soldiers  —  they 
are  rude  in  appearance,  but  they  know  what  is 
decent,  and  it  pleases  them  much  to  have  folks, 
even  old  women,  take  an  interest  and  come  among 
them.  Mother,  you  must  go  again,  and  take  Mat. 
Well,  dear  mother,  I  must  close.  I  am  first 
rate  in  health,  so  much  better  than  a  month  and 
two  months  ago  —  my  hand  has  entirely  healed. 
I  go  to  hospital  every  day  or  night —  I  believe 
no  men  ever  loved  each  other  as  I  and  some 
of  these  poor  wounded  sick  and  dying  men 
love  each  other.  Good-bye,  dearest  mother,  for 
present.     Walt. 

Tuesday  afternoon.  Mother,  it  seems  to  be  cer- 
tain that  Meade  has  gained  the  day,  and  that  the 
battles  there  in  Pennsylvania  have  been  about  as 
terrible  as  any  in  the  war  —  I  think  the  killed 
and  wounded  there  on  both  sides  were  as  many 
as  eighteen  or  twenty  thousand  —  in  one  place, 
four  or  five  acres,  there  were  a  thousand  dead  at 
daybreak  on  Saturday  morning.  Mother,  one's 
heart  grows  sick  of  war,  after  all,  when  you  see 
what  it  really  is  ;  every  once  in  a  while  1  feel  so 
horrified  and  disgusted  —  it  seems  to  me  like  a 
great  slaughter-house  and  the  men  mutually 
butchering  each  other  —  then  I  feel  how  impos- 
sible it  appears,  again,  to  retire  from  this  contest, 

until  we  have  carried   our  points  (it  is  cruel  to 

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The  Wound   Dresser 


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be  so  tossed  from  pillar  to  post  in  one's  judg- 
ment). Washington  is  a  pleasant  place  in  some 
respects  —  it  has  the  finest  trees,  and  plenty  of 
them  everywhere,  on  the  streets  and  grounds. 
The  Capitol  grounds,  though  small,  have  the 
finest  cultivated  trees  I  ever  see — there  is  a  great 
variety,  and  not  one  but  is  in  perfect  condition. 
After  I  finish  this  letter  I  am  going  out  there  for 
an  hour's  recreation.  The  great  sights  of  Wash- 
ington are  the  public  buildings,  the  wide  streets, 
the  public  grounds,  the  trees,  the  Smithsonian 
institute  and  grounds.  I  go  to  the  latter  occa- 
sionally—  the  institute  is  an  old  fogy  concern, 
but  the  grounds  are  fine.  Sometimes  I  go  up  to 
Georgetown,  about  two  and  a  half  miles  up  the 
Potomac,  an  old  town — just  opposite  it  in  the 
river  is  an  island,  where  the  niggers  have  their 
first  Washington  reg't  encamped.  They  make 
a  good  show,  are  often  seen  in  the  streets  of 
Washington  in  squads.  Since  they  have  begun 
to  carry  arms,  the  Secesh  here  and  in  George- 
town (about  three  fifths)  are  not  insulting  to  them 
as   formerly. 

One  of  the  things  here  always  on  the  go  is 
long  trains  of  army  wagons  —  sometimes  they 
will  stream  along  all  day ;  it  almost  seems  as  if 
there  was  nothing  else  but  army  wagons  and  am- 
bulances. They  have  great  camps  here  in  every 
direction,  of  army  wagons,  teamsters,  ambulance 
camps,  etc. ;  some  of  them  are  permanent,  and 
have  small  hospitals.  I  go  to  them  (as  no  one 
else  goes ;  ladies  would  not  venture).    I  sometimes 


112 


Letters  of  1862—3 

have  the  luck  to  give  some  of  the  drivers  a  great 
deal  of  comfort  and  help.  Indeed,  mother,  there 
are  camps  here  of  everything — I  went  once  or 
twice  to  the  contraband  camp,  to  the  hospital,  etc., 
but  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  go  again  —  when 
I  meet  black  men  or  boys  among  my  own  hos- 
pitals, I  use  them  kindly,  give  them  something, 
etc.  —  I  believe  I  told  you  that  I  do  the  same  to 
the  wounded  Rebels,  too  —  but  as  there  is  a  limit 
to  one's  sinews  and  endurance  and  sympathies, 
etc.,  I  have  got  in  the  way,  after  going  lightly,  as 
it  were,  all  through  the  wards  of  a  hospital,  and 
trying  to  give  a  word  of  cheer,  if  nothing  else,  to 
every  one,  then  confining  my  special  attentions 
to  the  few  where  the  investment  seems  to  tell 
best,  and  who  want  it  most.  Mother,  I  have  real 
pride  in  telling  you  that  I  have  the  consciousness 
of  saving  quite  a  number  of  lives  by  saving  them 
from  giving  up  —  and  being  a  good  deal  with 
them ;  the  men  say  it  is  so,  and  the  doctors  say 
it  is  so  —  and  I  will  candidly  confess  I  can  see  it 
is  true,  though  I  say  it  of  myself.  I  know  you 
will  like  to  hear  it,  mother,  so  I  tell  you.  I  am 
finishing  this  in  Major  Hapgood's  office,  about 
I  o'clock  —  it  is  pretty  warm,  but  has  not  cleared 
off  yet.  The  trees  look  so  well  from  where  I  am, 
and  the  Potomac — it  is  a  noble  river ;  I  see  it  sev- 
eral miles,  and  the  Arlington  heights.  Mother, 
I  see  some  of  the  47th  Brooklyn  every  day  or 
two ;  the  reg't  is  on  the  heights  back  of  Arlington 
house,  a  fine  camp  ground.  O  Matty,  I  have 
just  thought  of  you  —  dear  sister,  how  are  you 
8  113 


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The  Wound   Dresser 

getting  along  ?  Jeff,  I  will  write  you  truly. 
Good-bye  for  the  present,  dearest  mother,  and 
all.     Walt. 


XXIII 

Washington,  Sept,  15, 18  6 j.  Dear  Mot  her  — 
Your  letters  were  very  acceptable  —  one  came 
just  as  I  was  putting  my  last  in  the  post  office 
—  I  guess  they  all  come  right.  I  have  written 
to  Han  and  George  and  sent  George  papers. 
Mother,  have  you  heard  anything  whether  the 
51st  went  on  with  Burnside,  or  did  they  remain 
as  a  reserve  in  Kentucky  ?  Burnside  has  man- 
aged splendidly  so  far,  his  taking  Knoxville  and 
all  together  —  it  is  a  first-class  success.  I  have 
known  Tennessee  Union  men  here  in  hospital, 
and  I  understand  it,  therefore  —  the  region  where 
Knoxville  is  is  mainly  Union,  but  the  Southern- 
ers could  not  exist  without  it,  as  it  is  in  their 
midst,  so  they  determined  to  pound  and  kill  and 
crush  out  the  Unionists  —  all  the  savage  and  mon- 
strous things  printed  in  the  papers  about  their 
treatment  are  true,  at  least  that  kind  of  thing  is, 
as  bad  as  the  Irish  in  the  mob  treated  the  poor 
niggers  in  New  York.  We  North  don't  under- 
stand some  things  about  Southerners ;  it  is  very 
strange,  the  contrast  —  if  I  should  pick  out  the 
most  genuine  Union  men  and  real  patriots  I  have 
ever  met  in  all  my  experience,  I  should  pick  out 
two  or  three  Tennessee  and  Virginia  Unionists  I 

have  met  in  the  hospitals,  wounded  or  sick.    One 

114 


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■\)  I 


Letters  of  i  ^62—3 

young  man  I  guess  I  have  .  ent?\^ned  to  you  in 
my  letters,  John  Barker,  aid  Pen  .essee  Vol. 
(Union),  was  a  long  while  a  prison^  •  in  S^cesh 
prisons  in  Georgia,  and  in  Richmond —  '^rce 
times  the  devils  hung  him  up  by  the  h'  Is  to 
make  him  promise  to  give  up  his  Uni(.  lism ; 
once  he  was  cut  down  for  dead.  He  is  a  young 
married  man  with  one  child.  His  little  property 
destroyed,  his  wife  and  child  turned  out  —  he 
hunted  and  tormented  —  and  any  moment  he 
could  have  had  anything  if  he  would  join  the 
Confederacy — but  he  was  firm  as  a  rock;  he  would 
not  even  take  an  oath  to  not  fight  for  either  side. 
They  held  him  about  eight  months  —  then  he  was 
very  sick,  scurvy,  and  they  exchanged  him  and  he 
came  up  from  Richmond  here  to  hospital ;  here 
I  got  acquainted  with  him.  He  is  a  large,  slow, 
good-natured  man,  somehow  made  me  often  think 
of  father ;  shrewd,  very  little  to  say  —  would  n't 
talk  to  anybody  but  me.  His  whole  thought  was 
to  get  back  and  fight ;  he  was  not  fit  to  go,  but 
he  has  gone  back  to  Tennessee.  He  spent  two 
days  with  his  wife  and  young  one  there,  and  then 
to  his  regiment  —  he  writes  to  me  frequently  and 
I  to  him ;  he  is  not  fit  to  soldier,  for  the  Rebels 
have  destroyed  his  health  and  strength  (though 
he  is  only  23  or  4),  but  nothing  will  keep  him 
from  his  regiment,  and  fighting — he  is  uneducated, 
but  as  sensible  a  young  man  as  I  ever  met,  and 
understands  the  whole  question.  Well,  mother. 
Jack  Barker  is  the  most  genuine  Union  man  I 
have   ever   yet   met.     I    asked    him    once   very 

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The  Wound   Dresser 

gravely  why  he  didn't  take  the  Southern  oath 
and  get  his  liberty  —  if  he  did  n't  think  he  was 
foolisn  to  be  so  stiff,  etc.  I  never  saw  such 
a  look  as  he  gave  me,  he  thought  I  was  in  earnest 
—  the  old  devil  himself  could  n't  have  had  put  a 
worse  look  in  his  eyes.  Mother,  I  have  no  doubt 
there  are  quite  a  good  many  just  such  men.  He 
is  down  there  with  his  regiment  (one  of  his 
brothers  was  killed)  —  when  he  fails  in  strength 
he  gets  the  colonel  to  detach  him  to  do  teamster's 
duty  for  a  few  days,  on  a  march  till  he  recruits 
his  strength  —  but  he  always  carries  his  gun  with 
him  —  in  a  battle  he  is  always  in  the  ranks  —  then 
he  is  so  sensible,  such  decent  manly  ways,  nothing 
shallow  or  mean  (he  must  have  been  a  giant  in 
health,  but  now  he  is  weaker,  has  a  cough  too. 
Mother,  can  you  wonder  at  my  getting  so  attached 
to  such  men,  with  such  love,  especially  when  they 
show  it  to  me  —  some  of  them  on  their  dying 
beds,  and  in  the  very  hour  of  death,  or  just  the 
same  when  they  recover,  or  partially  recover  ?  I 
never  knew  what  American  young  men  were  till 
I  have  been  in  the  hospitals.  Well,  mother,  I 
have  got  writing  on  —  there  is  nothing  new  with 
me,  just  the  same  old  thing,  as  I  suppose  it  is 
with  you  there.  Mother,  how  is  Andrew  ?  I  wish 
to  hear  all  about  him — I  do  hope  he  is  better, 
and  that  it  will  not  prove  anything  so  bad.  I 
will  write  to  him  soon  myself,  but  in  the  meantime 
you  must  teW  him  to  not  put  so  much  faith  in 
medicine — drugs,  I  mean — as  in  the  true  curative 

things  ;  namely,  diet  and  careful  habits,  breathing 

ii6 


Letters  of  1862-3 

good  air,  etc.  You  know  I  wrote  in  a  former 
letter  what  is  the  cause  and  foundation  of  the 
diseases  of  the  throat  and  what  must  be  the 
remedy  that  goes  to  the  bottom  of  the  thing  — 
sudden  attacks  are  to  be  treated  with  appHcations 
and  medicines,  but  diseases  of  a  seated  charac- 
ter are  not  to  be  cured  by  them,  only  perhaps 
a  little  relieved  (and  often  aggravated,  made 
firmer). 

Dearest  mother,  I  hope  you  yourself  are  well, 
and  getting  along  good.  About  the  letter  in  the 
Times,  I  see  ever  since  I  sent  they  have  been 
very  crowded  with  news  that  must  be  printed  — 
I  think  they  will  give  it  yet.  I  hear  there  is  a 
new  paper  in  Brooklyn,  or  to  be  one — I  wish 
Jeff  would  send  me  some  of  the  first  numbers 
without  fail,  and  a  stray  Eagle  in  same  parcel  to 
make  up  the  4  ounces.  I  am  glad  to  hear  Mat 
was  going  to  write  me  a  good  long  letter  —  every 
letter  from  home  is  so  good,  when  one  is  away 
(I  often  see  the  men  crying  in  the  hospital  when 
they  get  a  letter).  Jeff  too,  I  want  him  to  write 
whenever  he  can,  and  not  forget  the  new  paper. 
We  are  having  pleasant  weather  here ;  it  is  such  a 
relief  from  that  awful  heat  (I  can't  think  of 
another  such  siege  without  feeling  sick  at  the 
thought). 

Mother,  I  believe  I  told  you  I  had  written  to 
Mrs.  Price  —  do  you  see  Emma  ?  Are  the 
soldiers  still  on  Fort  Greene  ?  Well,  mother,  I 
have  writ  quite  a  letter  —  it  is  between  2  and  3 
o'clock  —  I  am  in  Major  Hapgood's  all  alone  — 

117 


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The  Wound   Dresser 

from  my  window  I  see  all  the  Potomac,  and  all 
around  Washington —  Major  and  all  gone  down 
to  the  army  to  pay  troops,  and  I  keep  house.  I 
am  invited  to  dinner  to-day  at  4  o'clock  at  a  Mr. 
Boyle's  —  I  am  going  (hope  we  shall  have  some- 
thing good).  Dear  mother,  I  send  you  my  love, 
and  some  to  Jeff  and  Mat  and  all,  not  forgetting 
Mannahatta  (who  I  hope  is  a  help  and  comfort 
to  her  grandmother).  Well,  I  must  scratch  off  in 
a  hurry,  for  it  is  nearly  an  hour  [later]  than  I 
thought.     Good-bye  for  the  present,  dear  mother. 

Walt. 


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XXIV 

Washington,  Sept.  2p,  iS6j,  Dear  Mother  — 
Well,  here  I  sit  this  forenoon  in  a  corner  bv  the 
window  m  Major  Hapgood's  office,  all  the  Po- 
tomac, and  Maryland,  and  Virginia  hills  in  sight, 
writing  my  Tuesday  letter  to  you,  dearest  mother. 
Major  has  gone  home  to  Boston  on  sick  leave, 
and  only  the  clerk  and  me  occupy  the  office,  and 
he  not  much  of  the  time.  At  the  present  mo- 
ment there  are  two  wounded  officers  come  in  to 
get  their  pay  —  one  has  crutches  ;  the  other  is 
drest  in  the  light-blue  uniform  of  the  invalid 
corps.  Way  up  here  on  the  5th  floor  it  is  pretty 
hard  scratching  for  cripples  and  very  weak  men 
to  journey  up  here  —  often  they  come  up  here 
very  weary  and  faint,  and  then  find  out  they  can't 

get  their  money,  some  red-tape  hitch,  and   the 

118 


Letters  of  1862—3 

poor  soldiers  look  so  disappointed  —  it  always 
makes  me  feel  bad. 

Mother,  we  are  having  perfect  weather  here 
nowadays,  both  night  and  day.  The  nights 
are  wonderful ;  for  the  last  three  nights  as  I 
have  walked  home  from  the  hospital  pretty  late, 
it  has  seemed  to  me  like  a  dream,  the  moon 
and  sky  ahead  of  anything  I  ever  see  before. 
Mother,  do  you  hear  anything  from  George?  I 
wrote  to  him  yesterday  and  sent  him  your  last 
letter,  and  Jeff's  enclosed —  I  shall  send  him  some 
papers  to-day  —  I  send  him  papers  quite  often. 
(Why  has  n't  Jeff  sent  me  the  Union  with  my 
letter  in  ?  I  want  much  to  see  it,  and  whether 
they  have  misprinted  it.) 

Mother,  I  don't  think  the  51st  has  been  in  any 
of  the  fighting  we  know  of  down  there  yet  — 
what  is  to  come  of  course  nobody  can  tell.  As 
to  Burnside,  I  suppose  you  know  he  is  among  his 
friends,  and  I  think  this  quite  important,  for  such 
the  main  body  of  East  Tennesseans  are,  and 
are  far  truer  Americans  anyhow  than  the  Cop- 
perheads of  the  North.  The  Tennesseans  will 
fight  for  us  too.  Mother,  you  have  no  idea  how 
the  soldiers,  sick,  etc.  (I  mean  the  American  ones, 
to  a  man)  all  feel  about  the  Copperheads ;  they 
never  speak  of  them  without  a  curse,  and  I  hear 
them  say,  with  an  air  that  shows  they  mean  it, 
they  would  shoot  them  sooner  than  they  would  a 
Rebel.  Mother,  the  troops  from  Meade's  army 
are  passing  through  here  night  and   day,  going 

West  and  so  down  to  reinforce  Rosecrans  I  sup- 

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pose — the  papers  are  not  permitted  to  mention 
it,  but  it  is  so.  Two  Army  Corps,  I  should  think, 
have  mostly  passed  —  they  go  through  night  and 
day —  I  hear  the  whistle  of  the  locomotive  scream- 
ing away  any  time  at  night  when  I  wake  up,  and 
the  rumbling  of  the  trains. 

Mother  dear,  you  must  write  to  me  soon,  and 
so  must  JefF.  I  thought  Mat  was  going  to  send 
me  a  great  long  letter  —  I  am  always  looking  for 
it;  I  hope  it  will  be  full  of  everything  about  family 
matters  and  doings,  and  how  everybody  really  is. 
I  go  to  Major's  box  three  or  four  times  a  day. 
I  want  to  hear  also  about  Andrew,  and  indeed 
about  every  one  of  you  and  everything  —  noth- 
ing is  too  trifling,  nothing  uninteresting. 

O  mother,  who  do  you  think  I  got  a  letter 
from,  two  or  three  days  ago  ?  Aunt  Fanny, 
Ansel's  mother  —  she  sent  it  by  a  young  man,  a 
wounded  soldier  who  has  been  home  to  Farming- 
dale  on  furlough,  and  lately  returned.  She  writes 
a  first-rate  letter,  Quaker  all  over  —  I  shall  an- 
swer it.  She  says  Mary  and  Ansel  and  all  are  well. 
I  have  received  another  letter  from  Mrs.  Price 
—  she  has  not  good  health.  I  am  sorry  for 
her  from  my  heart ;  she  is  a  good,  noble  woman, 
no  better  kind.  Mother,  I  am  in  the  hospitals 
as  usual  —  I  stand  it  better  the  last  three  weeks 
than  ever  before  —  I  go  among  the  worst  fevers 
and  wounds  with  impunity.  I  go  among  the 
smallpox,  etc.,  just  the  same  —  I  feel  to  go  with- 
out apprehension,  and  so  I  go.      Nobody  else 

goes ;  and  as  the  darkey  said  there  at  Charleston 

1 20 


Letters  of  1862—3 

when  the  boat  run  on  a  flat  and  the  Reb  sharp- 
shooters were  peppering  them,  "  somebody  must 
jump  in  de  water  and  shove  de  boat  off." 

Walt. 


XXV 

Washington^  Oct,  6,  i86j.  Dearest  Mother 
—  Your  letter  and  George*s  came  safe  —  dear 
brother  George,  one  don't  more  than  get  a  let- 
ter from  him  before  you  want  to  hear  again,  espe- 
cially as  things  are  looking  pretty  stormy  that 
way  —  but  mother,  I  rather  lean  to  the  opinion 
that  the  51st  is  still  in  Kentucky,  at  or  near  where 
George  last  wrote ;  but  of  course  that  is  only  my 
guess.  I  send  George  papers  and  occasionally 
letters.  Mother,  I  sent  him  enclosed  your  letter 
before  the  last,  though  you  said  in  it  not  to  tell 
him  how  much  money  he  had  home,  as  you  wanted 
to  surprise  him ;  but  I  sent  it.  Mother,  I  think 
Rosecrans  and  Burnside  will  be  too  much  for  the 
Rebels  down  there  yet.  I  myself  make  a  great 
acc't  of  Burnside  being  in  the  midst  o^  friends, 
and  such  friends  too  —  they  will  fight  and  fight 
up  to  the  handle,  and  kill  somebody  (it  seems  as 
if  it  was  coming  to  that  pass  where  we  will  either 
have  to  destroy  or  be  destroyed).  Mother,  I  wish 
you  would  write  soon  after  you  get  this,  or  Jeff 
or  Mat  must,  and  tell  me  about  Andrew,  if  there 
is  anything  different  with  him  —  I  think  about 

him  every  day  and  night.     I  believe  I  must  come 

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The  Wound  Dresser 

home,  even  if  it  is  only  for  a  week — I  want  to  see 
you  all  very  much.  Mother,  I  know  you  must 
have  a  great  deal  to  harass  and  trouble  you ;  I 
don't  mean  about  Andrew  personally,  for  I  know 
you  would  feel  to  give  your  life  to  save  his,  and 
do  anything  to  nourish  him,  but  about  the  chil- 
dren and  Nancy  —  but,  mother,  you  must  not  let 
anything  chafe  you,  and  you  must  not  be  squeam- 
ish about  saying  firmly  at  times  not  to  have  little 
Georgy  too  much  to  trouble  you  (poor  little  fel- 
low, I  have  no  doubt  he  will  be  a  pleasanter  child 
when  he  grows  older);  and  while  you  are  pleasant 
with  Nancy  you  must  be  sufficiently  plain  with 
her  —  only,  mother,  I  know  you  will,  and  Jeff  and 
Mat  will  too,  be  invariably  good  to  Andrew,  and 
not  mind  his  being  irritable  at  times ;  it  is  his 
disease,  and  then  his  temper  is  naturally  fretful, 
but  it  is  such  a  misfortune  to  have  such  sickness 
—  and  always  do  anything  for  him  that  you  can 
in  reason.  Mat,  my  dear  sister,  I  know  you  will, 
for  I  know  your  nature  is  to  come  out  a  first-class 
girl  in  times  of  trouble  and  sickness,  and  do  any- 
thing. Mother,  you  don't  know  how  pleased  I 
was  to  read  what  you  wrote  about  little  Sis.  I 
want  to  see  her  so  bad  I  don't  know  what  to  do ; 
I  know  she  must  be  just  the  best  young  one  on 
Long  Island  —  but  I  hope  it  will  not  be  under- 
stood as  meaning  any  slight  or  disrespect  to  Miss 
Hat,  nor  to  put  her  nose  out  of  joint,  because 
Uncle  Walt,  I  hope,  has  heart  and  gizzard  big 
enough  for  both  his  little  nieces  and  as  many 
more  as  the  Lord  may  send. 

122 


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Letters  of  1862—3 

Mother,  I  am  writing  this  in  Major  Hapgood's 
office,  as  usual.  I  am  all  alone  to-day  —  Major 
is  still  absent,  unwell,  and  the  clerk  is  away  some- 
where. O  how  pleasant  it  is  here  —  the  weather  I 
mean  —  and  other  things  too,  for  that  matter.  I 
still  occupy  my  little  room,  394  L  St.;  get  my 
own  breakfast  there ;  had  good  tea  this  morning, 
and  some  nice  biscuit  (yesterday  morning  and 
day  before  had  peaches  cut  up).  My  friends  the 
O'Connors  that  I  wrote  about  recommenced  cook- 
ing the  1st  of  this  month  (they  have  been,  as  usual 
in  summer,  taking  their  meals  at  a  family  hotel 
near  by).  Saturday  they  sent  for  me  to  breakfast, 
and  Sunday  I  eat  dinner  with  them  —  very  good 
dinner,  roast  beef,  lima  beans,  good  potatoes,  etc. 
They  are  truly  friends  to  me.  I  still  get  my  din- 
ner at  a  restaurant  usually.  I  have  a  very  good 
plain  dinner,  which  is  the  only  meal  of  any  ac- 
count I  make  during  the  day ;  but  it  is  just  as 
well,  for  I  would  be  in  danger  of  getting  fat  on 
the  least  encouragement,  and  I  have  no  ambition 
that  way.  Mother,  it  is  lucky  I  like  Washington 
in  many  respects,  and  that  things  are  upon  the 
whole  pleasant  personally,  for  every  day  of  my 
life  I  see  enough  to  make  one's  heart  ache  with 
sympathy  and  anguish  here  in  the  hospitals,  and 
I  do  not  know  as  I  could  stand  it  if  it  was  not 
counterbalanced  outside.  It  is  curious,  when  I 
am  present  at  the  most  appalling  things  —  deaths, 
operations,  sickening  wounds  (perhaps  full  of 
maggots)  —  I  do  not  fail,  although  my  sympa- 
thies are  very  much  excited,  but  keep  singularly 

123 


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The  Wound   Dresser 

cool ;  but  often  hours  afterward,  perhaps  when 
I  am  home  or  out  walking  alone,  I  feel  sick  and 
actually  tremble  when  I  recall  the  thing  and  have 
it  in  my  mind  again  before  me.  Mother,  did  you 
see  my  letter  in  the  N.  Y.  Times  of  Sunday,  Oct. 
4?  That  was  the  long-delayed  letter.  Mother, 
I  am  very  sorry  Jeff  did  not  send  me  the  Union 
with  my  letter  in  —  I  wish  very  much  he  could 
do  so  yet;  and  always  when  I  have  a  letter  in 
a  paper  I  would  like  to  have  one  sent.  If  you 
take  the  Union,  send  me  some  once  in  a  while. 
Mother,  was  it  Will  Brown  sent  me  those  ?  Tell 
him  if  so  I  was  much  obliged ;  and  if  he  or  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Brown  take  any  interest  in  hearing  my 
scribblings,  mother,  you  let  them  read  the  letters, 
of  course.  O,  I  must  not  close  without  telling 
you  the  highly  important  intelligence  that  I  have 
cut  my  hair  and  beard  —  since  the  event  Rose- 
crans,  Charleston,  etc.,  etc.,  have  among  my  ac- 
quaintances been  hardly  mentioned,  being  insig- 
nificant themes  in  comparison.  Jeff,  my  dearest 
brother,  I  have  been  going  to  write  you  a  good 
gossipy  letter  for  two  or  three  weeks  past;  will 
try  to  yet,  so  it  will  reach  you  for  Sunday  reading 
—  so  good-bye,  JefF,  and  good-bye  for  present, 
mother  dear,  and  all,  and  tell  Andrew  he  must 
not  be  discouraged  yet.     Walt. 


if 


124 


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Letters  of  1862—3 

XXVI 

Washington^  Oct.  11,  i86j.  Dear  Friend^— 
Your  letters  were  both  received,  and  were  in- 
deed welcome.  Don't  mind  my  not  answering 
them  promptly,  for  you  know  what  a  wretch  I 
am  about  such  things.  But  you  must  write  just 
as  often  as  you  conveniently  can.  Tell  me  all 
about  your  folks,  especially  the  girls,  and  about 
Mr.  A.  Of  course  you  won't  forget  Arthur,^ 
and  always  when  you  write  to  him  send  my, 
love.  Tell  me  about  Mrs.  U.  and  the  dear  little 
rogues.  Tell  Mrs.  B.  she  ought  to  be  here, 
hospital  matron,  only  it  is  a  harder  pull  than 
folks  anticipate.  You  wrote  about  Emma;^  she 
thinks  she  might  and  ought  to  come  as  nurse 
for  the  soldiers.  Dear  girl,  I  know  it  would  be 
a  blessed  thing  for  the  men  to  have  her  loving 
spirit  and  hand,  and  whoever  of  the  poor  fellows 
had  them  would  indeed  think  it  so.  But,  my 
darling,  it  is  a  dreadful  thing  —  you  don't  know 
these  wounds,  sickness,  etc.,  the  sad  condition  in 
which  many  of  the  men  are  brought  here,  and 
remain  for  days  ;  sometimes  the  wounds  full  of 
crawling  corruption,  etc.  Down  in  the  field- 
hospitals  in  front  they  have  no  proper  care 
(can't  have),  and  after  a  battle  go  for  many  days 
unattended   to. 

1  Mrs.  Abby  Price,  an  intimate  friend  of  Whitman,  and  a  friend 
and  neighbor  of  his  mother. 

*  Mrs.  Price's  son,  a  naval  officer. 

8  Mrs.  Price's  daughter,  and  sister  of  the  Helen  mentioned  later. 

125 


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The  Wound  Dresser 

Abby,  I  think  often  about  you  and  the  pleasant 
days,  the  visits  I  used  to  pay  you,  and  how  good 
it  was  always  to  be  made  so  welcome.  O,  I  wish 
I  could  come  in  this  afternoon  and  have  a  good 
tea  with  you,  and  have  three  or  four  hours  of 
mutual  comfort,  and  rest  and  talk,  and  be  all 
of  us  together  again.  Is  Helen  home  and  well  ? 
and  what  is  she  doing  now  ?  And  you,  my 
dear  friend,  how  sorry  I  am  to  hear  that  your 
health  is  not  rugged  —  but,  dear  Abby,  you  must 
not  dwell  on  anticipations  of  the  worst  (but  I 
know  that  is  not  your  nature,  or  did  not  use 
to  be).  I  hope  this  will  find  you  quite  well 
and  in  good  spirits.  1  feel  so  well  myself —  I 
will  have  to  come  and  see  you,  I  think  —  I  am 
so  fat,  out  considerable  in  the  open  air,  and  all 
red  and  tanned  worse  than  ever.  You  see,  there- 
fore, that  my  life  amid  these  sad  and  death- 
stricken  hospitals  has  not  told  upon  me,  for  I 
am  this  fall  so  running  over  with  health,  and  I 
feel  as  if  I  ought  to  go  on,  on  that  account, 
working  among  all  the  sick  and  deficient;  and 
O  how  gladly  I  would  bestow  upon  you  a  liberal 
share  of  my  health,  dear  Abby,  if  such  a  thing 
were  possible. 

I  am  continually  moving  around  among  the 
hospitals.  One  I  go  to  cftenest  the  last  three 
months  is  "  Armory-square,"  as  it  is  large,  gen- 
erally full  of  the  worst  wounds  and  sickness,  and 
is  among  the  least  visited.  To  this  or  some 
other  I  never  miss  a  day  or  evening.  I  am  en- 
abled to  give  the  men  something,  and  perhaps 

126 


pleasant 
)w  good 
J  I  wish 

a  good 
lours  of 
i  be  all 
id  well  ? 
ou,  my 
at  your 
3U  must 

(but  I 
not  use 
ite  well 
self—  I 
—  I  am 

and  all 
2,  there- 
.  death- 
2,  for  I 
,  and  I 
Lccount, 
It;  and 
I  liberal 
a  thing 

)ng  the 
}t  three 
:e,  gen- 
;ss,  and 
r  some 
am  en- 
Derhaps 


Letters  of  1862—3 

some  trifle  to  their  supper  all  around.  Then 
there  are  always  special  cases  calling  for  some- 
thing special.  Above  all  the  poor  boys  welcome 
magnetic  friendship,  personality  (some  are  so  fer- 
vent, so  hungering  for  this)  —  poor  fellows,  how 
young  they  are,  lying  there  with  their  pale  faces, 
and  that  mute  look  in  their  eyes.  O,  how  one 
gets  to  love  them  —  often,  particular  cases,  so 
suffering,  so  good,  so  manly  and  affectionate! 
Abby,  you  would  all  smile  to  see  me  among 
them  —  many  of  them  like  children.  Ceremony 
is  mostly  discarded  —  they  suffer  and  get  ex- 
hausted and  so  weary  —  not  a  few  are  on  their 
dying  beds  —  lots  of  them  have  grown  to  expect, 
as  I  leave  at  night,  that  we  should  kiss  each 
other,  sometimes  quite  a  number ;  I  have  to  go 
round,  poor  boys.  There  is  little  petting  in  a 
soldier's  life  in  the  field,  but,  Abby,  I  know  what 
is  in  their  hearts,  always  waiting,  though  they 
may  be  unconscious  of  it  themselves. 

I  have  a  place  where  I  buy  very  nice  home- 
made biscuits,  sweet  crackers,  etc.  Among  others, 
one  of  my  ways  is  to  get  a  good  lot  of  these,  and, 
for  supper,  go  through  a  couple  of  wards  and 
give  a  portion  to  each  man  —  next  day  two  wards 
more,  and  so  on.  Then  each  marked  case  needs 
something  to  itself.  I  spend  my  evenings  alto- 
gether at  the  hospitals — my  days  often.  I  give 
little  gifts  of  money  in  small  sums,  which  I  am 
enabled  to  do  —  all  sorts  of  things  indeed,  food, 
clothing,    letter-stamps   (I  write  lots  of  letters), 

now  and  then  a  good  pair  of  crutches,  etc.,  etc. 

127 


1^ 


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-(   ■■.^ 


t  lit 


\l  '  •* 


I: 


The   Wound   Dresser 

Then  I  read  to  the  boys.  The  whole  ward  that 
can  walk  gathers  around  me  and  listens. 

All  this  I  tell  you,  my  dear,  because  I  know  it 
will  interest  you.  I  like  Washington  very  well. 
(Did  you  see  my  last  letter  in  the  New  York 
Times  of  October  4th,  Sunday  ?)  I  have  three 
or  four  hours'  work  every  day  copying,  and  in 
writing  letters  for  the  press,  etc. ;  make  enough 
to  pay  my  way  —  live  in  an  inexpensive  manner 
anyhow.  I  like  the  mission  I  am  on  here,  and 
as  it  deeply  holds  me  I  shall  continue. 

October  75.  Well,  Abby,  I  guess  I  send  you 
letter  enough.  I  ought  to  have  finished  and  sent 
off  the  letter  last  Sunday,  when  it  was  written.  I 
have  been  pretty  busy.  We  are  having  new  ar- 
rivals of  wounded  and  sick  now  all  the  time  — 
some  very  bad  cases.  Abby,  should  you  come 
across  any  one  who  feels  to  help  contribute  to  the 
men  through  me,  write  me.  (I  may  then  send 
word  some  purchases  I  should  find  acceptable  for 
the  men).  But  this  only  if  it  happens  to  come 
in  that  you  know  or  meet  any  one,  perfectly  con- 
venient. Abby,  I  have  found  some  good  friends 
here,  a  few,  but  true  as  steel  —  W.  D.  O'Connor 
and  wife  above  all.  He  is  a  clerk  in  the  Treasury 
—  she  is  a  Yankee  girl.  Then  C.  W.  Eldridge^ 
in  Paymaster's  Department.  He  is  a  Boston 
boy,  too  —  their  friendship  has  been  unswerving. 

In  the  hospitals,  among  these  American  young 
men,   I   could  not  describe  to  you  what   mutual 

1  Formerly  of  Thayer  &  Eldridge,  the  first  Boston  publishers  of 
"Leaves  of  Grass"  (i860  Edition). 

128 


ard  that 

know  it 
ery  well, 
sw  York 
,ve  three 
,  and  in 
I  enough 
!  manner 
lere,  and 

send  you 
and  sent 
itten.     I 
new  ar- 
time  — 
ou  come 
te  to  the 
len  send 
table  for 
to  come 
:tly  con- 
friends 
'Connor 
Treasury 
Idridge  ^ 
Boston 
erving. 
n  young 
mutual 

iblishers  of 


Letters  of  1862-3 

attachments,  and  how  passing  deep  and  tender 
these  boys.  Some  have  died,  but  the  love  for 
them  lives  as  long  as  I  draw  breath.  These  sol- 
diers know  how  to  love  too,  when  once  they  have 
the  right  person  and  the  right  love  offered  them. 
It  is  wonderful.  You  see  I  am  running  off  into 
the  clouds,  but  this  is  my  element.  Abby,  I  am 
writing  this  note  this  afternoon  in  Major  H*s 
office  —  he  is  away  sick  —  I  am  here  a  good  deal 
of  the  time  alone.  It  is  a  dark  rainy  afternoon — 
we  don't  know  what  is  going  on  down  in  front, 
whether  Meade  is  getting  the  worst  of  it  or  not 
—  (but  the  result  or  the  big  elections  cheers  us). 
I  believe  fully  in  Lincoln  —  few  know  the 
rocks  and  quicksands  he  has  to  steer  through. 
I  enclose  you  a  note  Mrs.  O'C.  handed  me  to 
send  you  —  written,  I  suppose,  upon  impulse. 
She  is  a  noble  Massachusetts  woman,  is  not  very 
rugged  in  health  —  I  am  there  very  much  —  her 
husband  and  I  are  great  friends  too.  Well,  I 
will  close  —  the  rain  is  pouring,  the  sky  leaden, 
it  is  between  2  and  3.  I  am  going  to  get  some 
dinner,  and  then  to  the  hospital.  Good-bye,  dear 
friends,  and  I  send  my  love  to  all. 

Walt  Whitman. 


XXVII 

IVashington,  Oct,  /j,  186 j.  Dearest  Mother 
—  No^  liing  particular  new  with  me.  I  am  well  and 
hearty    -  think  a  good  deal  about  home.    Mother, 

9  129 


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The  Wound   Dresser 

I  so  much  want  to  see  you,  even  if  only  for  a 
couple  of  weeks,  for  I  reel  I  must  return  here 
and  continue  my  hospital  operations.  They  are 
so  much  needed,  although  one  can  do  only  such 
a  little  in  comparison,  amid  these  thousands. 
Then  I  desire  much  to  see  Andrew.  I  wonder 
if  I  could  cheer  him  up  any.  Does  he  get  any 
good  from  that  treatment  with  the  baths,  etc.? 
Mother,  I  suppose  you  have  your  hands  full  with 
Nancy's  poor  little  children,  and  one  worry  and 
another  (when  one  gets  old  little  things  bother  a 
great  deal).  Mother,  I  go  down  every  day  look- 
ing for  a  letter  from  you  or  JefF —  I  had  two  from 
Jeff  latter  part  of  the  week.  I  want  to  see  JefF 
much.  I  wonder  why  he  did  n't  send  me  the  Union 
with  my  letter  in ;  I  am  disappointed  at  not  get- 
ting it.  I  sent  Han  a  N.  Y.  Times  with  my  last 
letter,  and  one  to  George  too.  Have  you  heard 
anything  from  George  or  Han  ?  There  is  a 
new  lot  of  wounded  now  again.  They  have  been 
arriving  sick  and  wounded  for  three  days  —  first 
long  strings  of  ambulances  with  the  sick,  but  yes- 
terday many  with  bad  and  bloody  wounds,  poor 
fellows.  I  thought  I  was  cooler  and  more  used 
to  it,  but  the  sight  of  some  of  them  brought 
tears  into  my  eyes.  Mother,  I  had  the  good 
luck  yesterday  to  do  quite  a  great  deal  of  good. 
I  had  provided  a  lot  of^  nourishing  things  for  the 
men,  but  for  another  quarter  —  but  I  had  them 
where  I  could  use  them  immediately  for  these 
new  wounded  as  they  came  in  faint  and  hungry, 

and  fagged  out  with  a  long  rough  journey,  all 

130 


Letters  of  1862-3 

dirty  and  torn,  and  many  pale  as  ashes  and  ail 
bloody.  I  distributed  all  my  stores,  gave  partly 
to  the  nurses  I  knew  that  were  just  taking  charge 
of  them  —  and  as  many  as  I  could  I  fed  myself. 
Then  besides  I  found  a  lot  of  oyster  soup  handy, 
and  I  procured  it  all  at  once.  Mother,  it  is  the 
most  pitiful  sight,  I  think,  wnen  first  the  men 
are  brought  in.  I  have  to  bustle  round,  to  keep 
from  crying  —  they  are  such  rugged  young  men 
—  all  these  just  arrived  are  cavalry  men.  Our 
troops  got  the  worst  of  it,  but  fought  like  devils. 
Our  men  engaged  were  Kilpatrick's  Cavalry. 
They  were  in  the  rear  as  part  of  Meade's  retreat, 
and  the  Reb  cavalry  cut  in  between  and  cut  them 
off  and  attacked  them  and  shelled  them  terribly. 
But  Kilpatrick  brought  them  out  mostly  —  this 
was  last  Sunday. 

Mother,  I  will  try  to  come  home  before  long, 
if  only  for  six  or  eight  days.  I  wish  to  see  you, 
and  Andrew  —  I  wish  to  see  the  young  ones; 
and  Mat,  you  must  write.  I  am  about  moving. 
I  have  been  hunting  for  a  room  to-day  —  I  shall 
[write]  next  [time]  how  I  succeed.  Good-bye 
for  present,  dear  mother.     Walt. 


I  I 


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XXVIII 

Washington^  Ocu  20^  18 6 j.  Dearest  Mother 
—  I  got  your  last  letter  Sunday  morning,  though 
it  was  dated  Thursday  night.  Mother,  I  sup- 
pose you  got  a  letter  from  me  Saturday  last,  as 

131 


«-:■&- 


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■;«)l 


;i   i 


''I    ''«  ! 


If   ./■  ' 


Hi 


'I  'i 


The  Wound   Dresser 

I  sent  one  the  day  before,  as  I  was  concerned 
about  Andrew.  If  I  thought  it  would  be  any 
benefit  to  Andrew  I  should  certainly  leave  every- 
thing else  and  come  back  to  Brooklyn.  Mother, 
do  you  recollect  what  I  wrote  last  summer  about 
throat  diseases,  when  Andrew  was  first  pretty  bad  ? 
Well,  that  *s  the  whole  groundwork  of  the  busi- 
ness ;  any  true  physician  would  confirm  it.  There 
is  no  great  charm  about  such  things ;  as  to  any 
costly  and  mysterious  baths,  there  are  no  better 
baths  than  warm  water,  or  vapor  (and  perhaps 
sulphur  vapor).  There  is  nothing  costly  or  diffi- 
cult about  them  ;  one  can  have  a  very  good  sweat- 
ing bath,  at  a  pinch,  by  having  a  pan  of  warm 
water  under  a  chair  with  a  couple  of  blankets 
around  him  to  enclose  the  vapor,  and  heating  a 
couple  of  bricks  or  stones  or  anything  to  put  in 
one  after  another,  and  sitting  on  the  chair  —  it 
is  a  very  wholesome  sweat,  too,  and  not  to  be 
sneezed  at  if  one  wishes  to  do  what  is  salutary, 
and  thinks  of  the  sense  of  a  thing,  and  not  what 
others  do.  Andrew  mustn't  be  discouraged; 
those  diseases  are  painful  and  tedious,  but  he  can 
recover,  and  will  yet.  Dear  mother,  I  sent  your 
last  letter  to  George,  with  a  short  one  I  wrote  my- 
self. I  sent  it  yesterday.  I  sent  a  letter  last 
Wednesday  (14th)  to  him  also,  hoping  that  if 
one  don't  reach  him  another  will.  Hasn't  Jeff 
seen  Capt.  Sims  or  Lieut.  McReady  yet,  and 
don't  they  hear  whether  the  51st  is  near  Nicholas- 
ville,  Kentucky,  yet  ?     I  send  George  papers  now 

and  then.     Mother,  one  of  your  letters  contains 

132 


Letters  of  1862-3 

part  of  my  letter  to  the  Union  (I  wish  I  could 
have  got  the  whole  of  it).  It  seems  to  me  mostly 
as  I  intended  it,  barring  a  few  slight  misprints. 
Was  my  last  name  signed  at  the  bottom  of  it  ? 
Tell  me  when  you  write  next.  Dear  mother,  I 
am  real  sorry,  and  mad  too,  that  the  water  works 
people  have  cut  JefF*s  wages  down  to  ^50;  this 
is  a  pretty  time  to  cut  a  man's  wages  down,  the 
mean  old  punkin  heads.  Mother,  I  can*t  under- 
stand it  at  all;  tell  me  more  of  the  particulars. 
Jeff,  I  often  wish  you  was  on  here  r  you  would  be 
better  appreciated  —  there  are  big  salaries  paid 
here  sometimes  to  civil  engineers.  Jeff,  I  know  a 
fellow,  E.  C.  Stedman ;  has  been  here  till  lately ; 
is  now  in  Wall  street.  He  is  poor,  but  he  is  in 
with  the  big  bankers,  Hallett  &  Co.,  who  are  in 
with  Fremont  in  his  line  of  Pacific  railroad.  I  can 
get  his  (Stedman*s)  address,  and  should  you  wish 
it  any  time  I  will  give  you  a  letter  to  him.  I 
should  n*t  wonder  if  the  big  men,  with  Fremont 
at  head,  were  going  to  push  their  route  works, 
road,  etc.,  etc.,  in  earnest,  and  if  a  fellow  could  get 
a  good  managing  place  in  it,  why  it  might  be 
worth  while.  I  think  after  JefF  has  been  with 
the  Brooklyn  w[ater]  w[orks]  from  the  begin- 
ning, and  so  faithful  and  so  really  valuable,  to  put 
down  to  J 50  —  the  mean,  low-lived  old  shoats  ! 
I  have  felt  as  indignant  about  it,  the  meanness 
of  the  thing,  and  mighty  inconvenient,  too  — 
$40  a  month  makes  a  big  difference.  Mother, 
I  hope  JefF  won't  get  and  keep  himself  in  a  per- 
petual fever,  with  all  these  things  and  others  and 

133 


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II 


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\  ■■■ 


■■i 


,  * ';, 


If  N  i': 


The  Wound  Dresser 

botherations,  both  family  and  business  ones.  If 
he  does,  he  will  just  wear  himself  down  before 
his  time  comes.  I  do  hope,  Jeff,  you  will  take 
things  equally  all  round,  and  not  brood  or  think 
too  deeply.  So  I  go  on  giving  you  all  good 
advice.  O  mother,  I  must  tell  you  how  I  get 
along  in  my  new  quarters.  I  have  moved  to  a 
new  room,  456  Sixth  street,  not  far  from  Penn- 
sylvania avenue  (the  big  street  here),  and  not  far 
from  the  Capitol.  It  is  in  the  3d  story,  an  addi- 
tion back ;  seems  to  be  going  to  prove  a  very 
good  winter  room,  as  it  is  right  under  the  roof 
and  looks  south  ;  has  low  windows,  is  plenty  big 
enough  ;  I  have  gas.  I  think  the  lady  will  prove 
a  good  woman.  She  is  old  and  feeble.  (There  is 
a  little  girl  of  4  or  5  ;  I  hear  her  sometimes  call- 
ing Grandma^  Grandma,  just  exactly  like  Hat ;  it 
made  me  think  of  you  and  Hat  right  away.) 
One  thing  is  I  am  quite  by  myself;  there  is  no 
passage  up  there  except  to  my  room,  and  right 
off  against  my  side  of  the  house  is  a  great  old 
yard  with  grass  and  some  trees  back,  and  the  sun 
shines  in  all  day,  etc.,  and  it  smells  sweet,  and 
good  air  —  good  big  bed ;  I  sleep  first  rate. 
There  is  a  young  wench  of  12  or  13,  Lucy  (the 
niggers  here  are  the  best  and  most  amusing  crea- 
tures you  ever  see)  —  she  comes  and  goes,  gets 
water,  etc.  She  is  pretty  much  the  only  one  I 
see.  Then  I  believe  the  front  door  is  not  locked 
at  all  at  night.  (In  the  other  place  the  old  thief, 
the  landlord,  had  two  front  doors,  with  four  locks 
and  be  '^s  on  one  and  three  on  the  other  —  and  a 

13+ 


fc 


8| 


Letters  of  1862—3 

big  bulldog  in  the  back  yard.  We  were  well  forti- 
fied, I  tell  you.  Sometimes  I  had  an  awful  time 
at  night  getting  in.)  I  pay  $io  a  month;  this 
includes  gas,  but  not  fuel.  Jeff,  you  can  come 
on  and  see  me  easy  now.  Mother,  to  give  you 
an  idea  of  prices  here,  while  I  was  looking  for 
rooms,  about  like  our  two  in  Wheeler's  houses 
(2nd  story),  nothing  extra  about  them,  either  in 
location  or  anything,  and  the  rent  was  $60  a 
month.  Yet,  quite  curious,  vacant  houses  here 
are  not  so  very  dear ;  very  much  the  same  as  in 
Brooklyn.  Dear  mother,  Jeff  wrote  in  his  letter 
latter  part  of  last  week,  you  was  real  unwell 
with  a  very  bad  cold  (and  that  you  did  n't  have 
enough  good  meals).  Mother,  I  hope  this  will 
find  you  well  and  in  good  spirits.  I  think  about 
you  every  day  and  night.  Jeff  thinks  you  show 
your  age  more,  and  failing  like.  O  my  dear 
mother,  you  must  not  think  of  failing  yet.  I 
hope  we  shall  have  some  comfortable  years  yet. 
Mother,  don't  allow  things,  troubles,  to  take 
hold  of  you  ;  write  a  few  lines  whenever  you  can ; 
tell  me  exactly  how  things  are.  Mother,  I  am 
first  rate  and  well  —  only  a  little  of  that  deafness 
again.     Good-bye  for  present.     Walt. 


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XXIX 

Washington,  Oct.  27,  i86j.  Dearest  Mother, 
—  Yours  and  George's  letter  came,  and  a  letter  from 
Jeff  too  —  all  good.     I  had  received  a  letter  a  day 

13s 


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The  Wound  Dresser 

or  so  before  from  George  too.  I  am  very  glad 
he  is  at  Camp  Nelson,  Kentucky,  and  I  hope  and 
pray  the  reg*t  will  be  kept  there  —  for  God 
knows  they  have  tramped  enough  for  the  last 
two  years,  and  fought  battles  and  been  through 
enough.  I  have  sent  George  papers  to  Camp 
Nelson,  and  will  write  to-morrow.  I  send  him 
the  Unions  and  the  late  New  York  papers. 
Mother,  you  or  Jeff  write  and  tell  me  how  An- 
drew is  ;  I  hope  he  will  prove  to  be  better.  Such 
complaints  are  sometimes  very  alarming  for 
awhile,  and  then  take  such  a  turn  for  the  better. 
Common  means  and  steadily  pursuing  them, 
about  diet  especially,  are  so  much  more  reliable 
than  any  course  of  medicine  whatever.  Mother, 
I  have  written  to  Han  ;  I  sent  her  George's  let- 
ter to  me,  and  wrote  her  a  short  letter  myself!  I 
sent  it  four  or  five  days  ago.  Mother,  I  am  real 
pleased  to  hear  JefFs  explanation  how  it  is  that 
his  wages  is  cut  dcwn,  and  that  it  was  not  as  I 
fancied  from  the  meanness  of  the  old  coons  in 
the  board.  I  felt  so  indignant  about  it,  as  I  took 
it  into  my  head,  (though  I  don't  know  why)  that 
it  was  done  out  of  meanness,  and  was  a  sort  of 
insult.  I  was  quite  glad  Jeff  wrote  a  few  lines 
about  it  —  and  glad  they  appreciate  Jeff,  too. 
Mother,  if  any  of  my  soldier  boys  should  ever 
call  upon  you  (as  they  are  often  anxious  to  have 
my  address  in  Brooklyn)  you  just  use  them  as 
you  know  how  to  without  ceremony,  and  if  you 
happen  to  have  pot  luck  and  feel  to  ask  them  to 

take  a  bite,  don't  be  afraid  to  do  so.     There  is 

136 


I     , 


I,  II 


.»] 


'.■mnt^^rmmwfm-fvr^'- 


Letters  of  1862—3 

one  very  good  boy,  Thos.  Neat,  2nd  N.  Y. 
Cavalry,  wounded  in  leg.  He  is  now  home  on 
furlough  —  his  folks  live,  I  think,  in  Jamaica. 
He  is  a  noble  boy.  He  may  call  upon  you.  (I 
gave  him  here  $i  toward  buying  his  crutches, 
etc.)  I  like  him  very  much.  Then  possibly  a 
Mr.  Haskell,  or  some  of  his  folks  from  Western 
New  York,  may  call  —  he  had  a  son  died  here, 
a  very  fine  boy.  I  was  with  him  a  good  deal, 
and  the  old  man  and  his  wife  have  written  me, 
and  asked  me  my  address  in  Brooklyn.  He  said 
he  had  children  in  N.  Y.  city  and  was  occasion- 
ally down  there.  Mother,  when  I  come  home  I 
will  show  you  some  of  the  letters  I  get  from 
mothers,  sisters,  fathers,  etc.  —  they  will  make 
you  cry.  There  is  nothing  new  with  my  hos- 
pital doings  —  I  was  there  yesterday  afternoon 
and  evening,  and  shall  be  there  again  to-day. 
Mother,  I  should  like  to  hear  how  you  are  your- 
self—  has  your  cold  left  you,  and  do  you  feel 
better  ?  Do  you  feel  quite  well  again  ?  I  sup- 
pose you  have  your  good  stove  all  fired  up  these 
days  —  we  have  had  some  real  cool  weather  here. 
I  must  rake  up  a  little  cheap  second-hand 
stove  for  my  room,  for  it  was  in  the  bargain  that 
I  should  get  that  myself.  Mother,  I  like  my 
place  quite  well,  better  on  nearly  every  account 
than  my  old  room,  but  I  see  it  will  only  do  for  a 
winter  room.  They  keep  it  clean,  and  the  house 
smells  clean,  and  the  room  too.  My  old  room, 
they  just  let  everything  lay  where  it  was,  and  you 
can  fancy  what  a  litter  of  dirt  there  was — still 

137 


i 


t 


■ 


Ti    T 


;  ill'  'i 


The  Wound   Dresser 

it  was  a  splendid  room  for  air,  for  summer,  as 
good  as  there  is  in  Washington.  I  got  a  letter 
from  Mrs.  Price  this  morning  —  does  Emmy 
ever  come  to  see  you  ? 

Matty,  my  dear  sister,  and  Miss  Mannahatta, 
and  the  little  one  (whose  name  I  don't  know,  and 
perhaps  has  n't  got  any  name  yet),  I  hope  you  are 
all  well  and  having  good  times.  I  often,  often 
think  about  you  all.  Mat,  do  you  go  any  to  the 
Opera  now  ?    They  say  the  new  singers  are  so  good 

—  when  I  come  home  we'll  try  to  go.  Mother, 
I  am  very  well  —  have  some  cold  in  my  head 
and  my  ears  stopt  up  yet,  making  me  some- 
times quite  hard  of  hearing.  I  am  writing 
this  in  Major  Hapgood's  office.  Last  Sunday 
I  took  dinner  at  my  friends  the  O'Connors  — 
had  two  roast  chickens,  stewed  tomatoes,  pota- 
toes, etc.  I  took  dinner  there  previous  Sunday 
also. 

Well,  dear  mother,  how  the  time  passes  away 

—  to  think  it  will  soon  be  a  year  I  have  been 
away  !  It  has  passed  away  very  swiftly,  somehow, 
to  me.  O  what  things  I  have  witnessed  during 
that  time  —  I  shall  never  forget  them.  And  the 
war  is  not  settled  yet,  and  one  does  not  see  any- 
thing at  all  certain  about  the  settlement  yet ;  but 
I  have  finally  got  for  good,  I  think,  into  the  feel- 
ing that  our  triumph  is  assured,  whether  it  be 
sooner  or  whether  it  be  later,  or  whatever  round- 
about way  we  are  led  there,  and  I  find  I  don't 
change  that  conviction  from  any  reverses  we  meet, 
or  any  delays  or  Government  blunders.     Tlxcre  are 

138 


',^' 


Letters  of  1862—3 

blunders  enough,  heaven  knows,  but  I  am  thank- 
ful things  have  gone  on  as  well  for  us  as  they 
have  —  thankful  the  ship  rides  safe  and  sound  at 
all.  Then  I  have  finally  made  up  my  mind  that 
Mr.  Lincoln  has  done  as  good  as  a  human  man 
could  do.  I  still  think  him  a  pretty  big  Pres- 
ident. I  realize  here  in  Washington  that  it 
has  been  a  big  thing  to  have  just  kept  the  United 
States  from  being  thrown  down  and  having  its 
throat  cut ;  and  now  I  have  no  doubt  it  will 
throw  down  Secession  and  cut  its  throat  —  and 
I  have  not  had  any  doubt  since  Gettysburg. 
Well,  dear,  dear  mother,  I  will  draw  to  a  close. 
Andrew  and  Jeff  and  all,  I  send  you  my  love. 
Good-bye,  dear  mother  and  dear  Matty  and 
all   hands.     Walt. 


XXX 

Washington^  Dec,  75,  i86j.  Dearest  Mother 
—  The  last  word  I  got  from  home  was  your  letter 
written  the  night  before  Andrew  was  buried  — 
Friday  night,  nearly  a  fortnight  ago.  I  have  not 
heard  anything  since  from  you  or  Jeff.  Mother, 
Major  Hapgood  has  moved  from  his  office,  cor. 
15th  street,  and  I  am  not  with  him  any  more. 
He  has  moved  his  office  to  his  private  room.  I 
am  writing  this  in  my  room,  456  Sixth  street, 
but  my  letters  still  come  to  Major's  care ;  they 
are  to  be  addrest  same  as  ever,  as  I  can  easily 
go  and  get  them  out  of  his  box  (only  nothing 

139 


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The  Wound   Dresser 


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need  be  sent  me  any  time  to  the  old  office,  as  I 
am  not  there,  nor  Major  either).  Anything  like 
a  telegraphic  dispatch  or  express  box  or  the  like 
should  be  addrest  456  Sixth  street,  3rd  story, 
back  room.  Dear  mother,  I  hope  you  are  well 
and  in  good  spirits.  I  wish  you  would  try  to 
write  to  me  everything  about  home  and  the 
particulars  of  Andrew's  funeral,  and  how  you  all  are 
getting  along.  I  have  not  received  the  Eagle 
with  the  little  piece  in.  I  was  in  hopes  JefF 
would  have  sent  it.  I  wish  he  would  yet,  or 
some  of  you  would ;  I  want  to  see  it.  I  think  it 
must  have  been  put  in  by  a  young  man  named 
Howard ;  he  is  now  editor  of  the  Eagle y  and  is 
very  friendly  to  me. 

Mother,  I  am  quite  well.  I  have  been  out  this 
morning  early,  went  down  through  the  market ; 
it  is  quite  a  curiosity  —  I  bought  some  butter,  tea, 
etc.  I  have  had  my  breakfast  here  in  my  room, 
good  tea,  bread  and  butter,  etc. 

Mother,  I  think  about  you  all  more  than  ever — 
and  poor  Andrew,  I  often  think  about  him. 
Mother,  write  to  me  how  Nancy  and  the  little 
boys  are  getting  along.  I  got  thinking  last  night 
about  little  California.^  O  how  I  wished  I  had  her 
here  for  an  hour  to  take  care  of —  dear  little  girl. 
I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  a  young  one  I  took  to 
so  much  —  but  I  mustn't  slight  Hattie  ;  I  like 
her  too.  Mother,  I  am  still  going  among  the 
hospitals;  there  is  plenty  of  need,  just  the  same 
as  ever.     I  go  every  day  or  evening.     I  have  not 

^  Jeff's  daughter  Jessie  was  originally  called  California. 

140 


Letters  of  1862—3 

heard  from  George  —  I  have  no  doubt  the  51st 
is  still  at  Crab  Orchard. 

Mother,  I  hope  you  will  try  to  write.  I  send 
you  my  love,  and  to  JefF  and  Mat  and  all  —  so 
good-bye,  dear  mother.     Walt. 


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LETTERS  OF   1864 


WASHINGTON,  Friday  afternoon,  Jan,  29. 
^64,  Dear  Mother  —  Your  letter  of 
Tuesday  night  came  this  forenoon  —  the  one  of 
Sunday  night  I  received  yesterday.  Mother, 
you  don*t  say  in  either  of  them  whether  George 
has  re-enlisted  or  not  —  or  is  that  not  yet  decided 
positively  one  way  or  the  other  ? 

O  mother,  how  I  should  like  to  be  home 
(I  don't  want  more  than  two  or  three  days).  I 
want  to  see  George  (I  have  his  photograph  on 
the  wall,  right  over  my  table  all  the  time),  and  I 
want  to  see  California  —  you  must  always  write 
in  your  letters  how  she  is.  I  shall  write  to  Han 
this  afternoon  or  to-morrow  morning  and  tell  her 
probably  George  will  come  out  and  see  her,  and 
that  if  he  does  you  will  send  her  word  before- 
hand. 

Jeff,  my  dear  brother,  if  there  should  be  the 
change  made  in  the  works,  and  things  all  over- 
turned, you  must  n't  mind  —  I  dare  say  you  will 
pitch  into  something  better.  I  believe  a  real 
overturn  in  the  dead  old  beaten  track  of  a  man's 
life,  especially  a  young  man's,  is  always  likely 
to  turn  out  best,  though  it  worries  one  at  first 
dreadfully.  Mat,  I  want  to  see  you  most  sin- 
cerely —  they  have  n't  put  in  anything  in  the  last 
two  or  three  letters  about  you,  but  I  suppose  you 
are  well,  my  dear  sister. 

143 


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The  Wound   Dresser 

Mother,  the  young  man  that  I  took  care  of, 
Lewis  Brown,  is  pretty  well,  but  very  restless  — 
he  is  doing  well  now,  but  there  is  a  long  road 
before  him  yet ;  it  is  torture  for  him  to  be  tied  so 
to  his  cot,  this  weather ;  he  is  a  very  noble  young 
man  and  has  suffered  very  much.  He  is  a 
Maryland  boy  and  (like  the  Southerners  when 
they  are  Union)  I  think  he  is  as  strong  and 
resolute  a  Union  boy  as  there  is  in  the  United 
States.  He  went  out  in  a  Maryland  reg*t,  but 
transferred  to  a  N.  Y.  battery.  But  I  find  so 
many  noble  men  in  the  ranks  I  have  ceased  to 
wonder  at  it.  I  think  the  soldiers  from  the  New 
England  States  and  the  Western  States  are  splendid, 
and  the  country  parts  of  N.  Y.  and  Pennsylvania 
too.  I  think  less  of  the  great  cities  than  I  used 
to.  I  know  there  are  black  sheep  enough  even 
in  the  ranks,  but  the  general  rule  is  the  soldiers 
are  noble,  very. 

Mother,  I  wonder  if  George  thinks  as  I  do 
about  the  best  way  to  enjoy  a  visit  home,  after 
all.  When  I  come  home  again,  I  shall  not  go 
off  gallivanting  with  my  companions  half  as  much 
nor  a  quarter  as  much  as  I  used  to,  but  shall 
spend  the  time  quietly  home  with  you  while  I  do 
stay  ;  it  is  a  great  humbug  spreeing  around,  and 
a  few  choice  friends  for  a  man,  the  real  right  kind 
in  a  quiet  way,  are  enough. 

Mother,  I   hope  you  take  things  easy,  don't 

you  ?     Mother,  you  know  I  was  always  advising 

you  to  let  things  go  and  sit  down  and  take  what 

comfort  you  can  while  you  do  live.     It  is  very 

144 


/.! 


»»•  ■♦ 


Letters  of  1864 

warm  here ;  this  afternoon  it  is  warm  enough  for 
July  —  the  sun  burns  where  it  shines  on  your 
face ;  it  is  pretty  dusty  in  the  principal  streets. 

Congress  is  in  session ;  I  see  Odell,  Kalb- 
fleisch,  etc.,  often.  I  have  got  acquainted  with 
Mr.  Garfield,  an  M.  C.  from  Ohio,  and  like  him 
very  much  indeed  (he  has  been  a  soldier  West, 
and  I  believe  a  good  brave  one  —  was  a  major 
general).  I  don't  go  much  to  the  debates  this 
session  yet.  Congress  will  probably  keep  in  ses- 
sion till  well  into  the  summer.  As  to  what 
course  things  wil  ♦:ake,  political  or  military, 
there  's  no  telling,  i  think,  though,  the  Secesh 
military  power  is  getting  more  and  more  shaky. 
How  they  can  make  any  headway  against  our 
new,  large,  and  fresh  armies  next  season  passes 
my  wit  to  see. 

Mother,  I  was  talking  with  a  pretty  high  offi- 
cer here,  who  is  behind  the  scenes  —  I  was  men- 
tioning that  I  had  a  great  desire  to  be  present  at 
a  first-class  battle ;  he  told  me  if  I  would  only 
stay  around  here  three  or  four  weeks  longer  my 
wish  would  probably  be  gratified.  I  asked  him 
what  he  meant,  what  he  alluded  to  specifically, 
but  he  would  not  say  anything  further  —  so  I  re- 
main as  much  in  the  dark  as  before  —  only  there 
seemed  to  be  some  meaning  in  his  remark,  and  it 
was  made  to  me  only  as  there  was  no  one  else  in 
hearing  at  the  moment  (he  is  quite  an  admirer  of 
my  poetry). 

The  re-enlistment  of  the  veterans  is  the  greatest 
thing  yet ;  it  pleases  everybody  but  the  Rebels  — 


xo 


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The  Wound   Dresser 

and  surprises  everybody  too.  Mother,  I  am  well 
and  fat  (I  must  weigh  about  206),  so  Washing- 
ton must  agree  with  me.  I  work  three  or  four 
hours  a  day  copying.  Dear  mother,  I  send  you 
and  Hattie  my  love,  as  you  say  she  is  a  dear 
little  girl.  Mother,  try  to  write  every  week, 
even  if  only  a  few  lines.  Love  to  George  and 
Jeff  and  Mat.     Walt. 


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Washington,  Feb,  2,  186^,     Dearest  Mother 

—  I  rm  writing  this  by  the  side  of  the  young  man 
you  asked  about,  Lewis  Brown  in  Armory-square 
hospital.     He  is  getting  along  very  well  indeed 

—  the  amputation  is  healing  up  good,  and  he 
does  not  suffer  anything  like  as  much  as  he  did. 
I  see  him  every  day.  We  have  had  real  hot 
weather  here,  and  for  the  last  three  days  wet 
and  rainy ;  it  is  more  like  June  than  February. 
Mother,  I  wrote  to  Han  last  Saturday  —  she 
must  have  got  it  yesterday.  I  have  not  heard 
anything  from  home  since  a  week  ago  (your  last 
letter).  I  suppose  you  got  a  letter  from  me 
Saturday  last.  I  am  well  as  usual.  There  has 
been  several  hundred  sick  soldiers  brought  in 
here  yesterday.  I  have  been  around  among  them 
to-day  all  day  —  it  is  enough  to  make  me  heart- 
sick, the  old  times  over  again ;  they  are  many 
of  them  mere  wrecks,  though  young  men  (sick- 
ness is  worse  in  some    respects    than  wounds). 

146 


-V. 


Letters  of  1864 

One  boy  about  i6,  from  Portland,  Maine,  only 
came  from  home  a  month  ago,  a  recruit ;  he  is 
here  now  very  sick  and  down-hearted,  poor  child. 
He  is  a  real  country  boy  ;  I  think  has  consump- 
tion. He  was  only  a  week  with  his  reg't.  I  sat 
with  him  a  long  time  ;  I  saw  [it]  did  him  great 
good.  I  have  been  feeding  some  their  dinners. 
It  makes  me  feel  quite  proud,  I  find  so  frequently 
I  can  do  with  the  men  what  no  one  else  at  all 
can,  getting  them  to  eat  (some  that  will  n^jt  touch 
their  food  otherwise,  nor  for  anybody  else)  —  it 
is  sometimes  quite  affecting,  I  can  tell  you.  I 
found  such  a  case  to-day,  a  soldier  with  throat 
disease,  very  bad.  I  fed  him  quite  a  dinner; 
the  men,  his  comrades  around,  just  stared  in  won- 
der, and  one  of  them  told  me  afterwards  that  he 
(the  sick  man)  had  not  eat  so  much  at  a  meal  in 
three  months.  Mother,  I  shall  have  my  hands 
pretty  full  now  for  a  while — write  all  about 
things  home.     Walt. 

Lewis  Brown  says  I  must  give  you  his  love  — 
he  says  he  knows  he  would  like  you  if  he  should 
see  you. 


■  i ' 


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III 

Washington^  Friday  afternoon^  Feb,  5,  1864, 
Dearest  Mother  —  I  am  going  down  in  front, 
in  the  midst  of  the  army,  to-morrow  morning,  to 
be  gone  for  about  a  week — so  I  thought  I  would 
write  you  a  few  lines  now,  to  let  you  know. 

Mother,  I  suppose  you  got  my  letter  written 

H7 


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The  Wound   Dresser 

last  Tuesday  —  I  have  not  got  any  from  home 
now  for  a  number  of  days.  I  am  well  and  hearty. 
The  young  man  Lewis  Brown  is  able  to  be  up  a 
little  on  crutches.  There  is  quite  u  number  of 
sick  young  men  I  have  taken  in  hand,  from  the 
late  arrivals,  that  I  am  sorry  to  leave.  Sick  and 
down-hearted  and  lonesome,  they  think  so  much 
of  a  friend,  and  I  get  so  attached  to  them  too  — 
but  I  want  to  go  down  in  camp  once  more  very 
much  ;  and  I  think  I  shall  be  back  in  a  week.  I 
shall  spend  most  of  my  time  among  the  sick  and 
wounded  in  the  camp  hospitals.  If  I  had  means 
I  should  stop  with  them,  poor  boys,  or  go  among 
them  periodically,  dispensing  what  I  had,  as  long 
as  the  war  lasts,  down  among  the  worst  of  it 
(although  what  are  collected  here  in  hospital  seem 
to  me  about  as  severe  and  needy  cases  as  any, 
after  all). 

Mother,  I  want  to  hear  about  you  all,  and  about 
George  and  how  he  is  spending  his  time  home. 
Mother,  I  do  hope  you  are  well  and  in  good 
spirits,  and  JefF  and  Mat  and  all,  and  dear  little 
California  and  Hattie  —  I  send  them  all  my  love. 
Mother,  I  may  write  to  you  from  down  in  front 
—  so  good-bye,  dear  mother,  for  present.    Walt. 

I  hope  I  shall  find  several  letters  waiting  for 
me  when  I  get  back  here. 


If 


148 


Letters  of  1864 

IV 

Culpepper^  Virginia^  Friday  night,  Feb.  12, 1864, 
Dearest  Mother  —  I  am  still  stopping  down  in 
this  region.     I  am  a  good  deal  of  the  time  down 
within  half  a  mile  of  our  picket  lines,  so  that  you 
see  I  can  indeed  call  myself  in  the  front.  I  stopped 
yesterday  with  an  artillery  camp  in  the  ist  Corps 
at  the  invitation  of  Ciipt.  Crawford,  who  said  that  he 
knew  me  in  Brooklyn.     It  is  close  to  the  lines  — 
I  asked  him  if  he  did  not  think  it  dangerous.     He 
said.  No,  he  could  have  a  large  force  of  infantry  to 
help  him  there,  in  very  short  metre,  if  there  was 
any  sudden   emergency.     The   troops   here   are 
scattered  all  around,  much  more  apart  than  they 
seemed  to  me  to  be  opposite  Fredericksburg  last 
winter.     They  mostly  have  good  huts  and  fire- 
places, etc.     I  have  been  to  a  great  many  of  the 
camps,  and  I  must  say  I  am  astonished  [how] 
good  the  houses  are  almost  everywhere.     I  have 
not  seen  one  regiment,  nor  any  part  of  one,  in  the 
poor  uncomfortable  little  shelter  tents  that  I  saw 
so  common  last  winter   after    Fredericksburg  — 
but  all  the  men  have  built  huts  of  logs  and  mud. 
A  good    many   of  them  would    be   comfortable 
enough  to  live  in  under  any  circumstances.     I 
have  been  in  the  division  hospitals  around  here. 
There    are    not    many    men    sick    here,    and    no 
wounded  —  they  now  send  them  on  to  Washing- 
ton.    I  shall  return  there  in  a  few  days,  as  I  am 
very  clear  that  the  real  need  of  one's  services  is  there 

after  all  —  there  the  worst  cases  concentrate,  and 

149 


\ 


] 


■•I 


%\ 


% 


The   Wound   Dresser 


If  3  I'M' 


probably  will,  while  the  war  lasts.  I  suppose  you 
know  that  what  we  call  hospital  here  in  the  field  is 
nothing  but  a  collection  of  tents  on  the  bare  ground 
for  a  floor  —  rather  hard  accommodation  for  a  sick 
man.  They  heat  them  there  by  digging  a  long 
trough  in  the  ground  under  them,  covering  it  over 
with  old  railroad  iron  and  earth,  and  then  building 
a  fire  at  one  end  and  letting  it  draw  through  and  go 
out  at  the  other,  as  both  ends  are  open.  This  heats 
the  ground  through  the  middle  of  the  hospital 
quite  hot.  I  find  some  poor  creatures  crawling 
about  pretty  weak  with  diarrhoea ;  there  is  a  great 
deal  of  that;  they  keep  them  until  they  get  very 
bad  indeed,  and  then  send  them  to  Washington. 
This  aggravates  the  complaint,  and  they  come  into 
Washington  in  a  terrible  condition.  O  mother, 
how  often  and  how  many  I  have  seen  come  into 
Washington  from  this  awful  complaint  after  such 
an  experience  as  I  have  described  —  with  the  look 
of  death  on  their  poor  young  faces ;  they  keep 
them  so  long  in  the  field  hospitals  with  poor 
accommodations  the  disease  gets  too  deeply 
seated. 

To-day  I  have  been  out  among  some  of  the 
camps  of  the  2nd  division  of  the  ist  Corps.  I 
have  been  wandering  around  all  day,  and  have  had 
a  very  good  time,  over  woods,  hills,  and  gullies  — 
indeed,  a  real  soldier's  march.  The  weather  is 
good  and  the  travelling  quite  tolerable.  I  have 
been  in  the  camps  of  some  Massachusetts,  Penn- 
sylvania, and  New  York  regiments.    I  have  friends 

in  them,  and  went  out  to  see  them,  and  see  sol- 

150 


m.^. 


Letters  of  1864 

dlering  generally,  as  I  can  never  cease  to  crave 
more  and  more  knowledge  of  actual  soldiers'  life, 
and  to  be  among  them  as  much  as  possible.  This 
evening  I  have  also  been  in  a  large  wagoners* 
camp.  They  had  good  fires  and  were  very  cheer- 
ful. I  went  to  see  a  friend  there,  too,  but  did  not 
find  him  in.  It  is  curious  how  many  I  find  that 
I  know  and  that  know  me.  Mother,  I  have  no 
difficulty  at  all  in  making  myself  at  home  among 
the  soldiers,  teamsters,  or  any  —  I  most  always 
find  they  like  to  have  me  very  much ;  it  seems  to 
do  them  good.  No  doubt  they  soon  feel  that  my 
heart  and  sympathies  are  truly  with  them,  and  it 
is  both  a  novelty  and  pleases  them  and  touches 
their  feelings,  and  so  doubtless  does  them  good  — 
and  I  am  sure  it  does  that  to  me.  There  is  more 
fun  around  here  than  you  would  think  for.  I  told 
you  about  the  theatre  the  14th  Brooklyn  has  got 
up  —  they  have  songs  and  burlesques,  etc.;  some 
of  the  performers  real  good.  As  I  write  this  I 
have  heard  in  one  direction  or  another  two  or 
three  good  bands  playing  —  and  hear  one  tooting 
away  some  gay  tunes  now,  though  it  is  quite  late 
at  night.  Mother,  I  don't  know  whether  I  men- 
tioned in  my  last  letter  that  I  took  dinner  with 
Col.  Fowler  one  day  early  part  of  the  week.  His 
wife  is  stopping  here.  I  was  down  at  the  14th  as 
I  came  along  this  evening,  too  —  one  of  the  offi- 
cers told  me  about  a  presentation  to  George  of  a 
sword,  etc.  —  he  said  he  see  it  in  the  papers.  The 
14th  invited  me  to  come  and  be  their  guest  while 
I  staid  here,  but  I  have  not  been  able  to  accept. 

>5» 


[I 


, 


] 


1-^ 


f 


The  Wound   Dresser 

Col.  Fowler  uses  me  tip-top  —  he  is  provost  mar- 
shal of  this  region ;  makes  a  good  officer.  Mother, 
I  could  get  no  pen  and  ink  to-night.  Well,  dear 
mother,  1  send  you  my  love,  and  to  George  and 
JefF  and  Mat  and  little  girls  and  all.     Walt. 

Direct  to  care  of  Major  Hapgood  as  before, 
and  write  soon.  Mother,  I  suppose  you  got  a 
letter  I  wrote  from  down  here  last  Monday. 


fr 


k'li 


m^ 


Washington^  March  2,  1864,  Dear  Mother 
—  You  or  JefF  must  try  to  write  as  soon  as  you  re- 
ceive this  and  let  me  know  how  little  Sis  is.  Tell 
me  if  she  got  entirely  over  the  croup  and  how 
she  is  —  also  about  George's  trunks.  I  do  hope 
he  received  them ;  it  was  such  a  misfortune ;  I 
want  to  hear  the  end  of  it ;  I  am  in  hopes  I  shall 
hear  that  he  has  got  them.  I  have  not  seen  in  the 
papers  whether  the  51st  has  left  New  York  yet. 
Mother,  I  want  to  hear  all  about  home  and  all 
the  occurrences,  especially  the  two  things  I  have 
just  mentioned,  and  how  you  are,  for  somehow  I 
was  thinking  from  your  letters  lately  whether  you 
was  as  well  as  usual  or  not.  Write  how  my  dear 
sister  Mat  is  too,  and  whether  you  are  still  going 
to  stay  there  in  Portland  avenue  the  coming  year. 
Well,  dear  mother,  I  am  just  the  same  here  — 
nothing  new.  I  am  well  and  hearty,  and  con- 
stantly moving  around  among  the  wounded  and 
sick.     There  are  a  great  many  of  the  latter  com- 

152 


Letters  of  1864 

ing  up  —  the  hospitals  here  are  quite  full  —  lately 
they  have  [been]  picking  out  in  the  hospitals  all 
that  had  pretty  well  recovered,  and  sending  them 
back  to  their  regiments.  They  seem  to  be  deter- 
mined to  strengthen  the  army  this  spring  to  the 
utmost.  They  are  sending  down  many  to  their 
reg'ts  that  are  not  fit  to  go  in  my  opinion  —  then 
there  are  squads  and  companies,  and  reg'ts,  too, 
passing  through  here  in  one  steady  stream,  going 
down  to  the  front,  returning  from  furlough  home  ; 
but  then  there  are  quite  a  number  leaving  the 
army  on  furlough,  re-enlisting,  and  going  North  for 
a  while.  They  pass  through  here  quite  largely. 
Mother,  Lewis  Brown  is  getting  quite  well ;  he 
will  soon  be  able  to  have  a  wooden  leg  put  on. 
He  is  very  restless  and  active,  and  wants  to  go 
round  all  the  time.  Sam  Beatty  is  here  in  Wash- 
ington. We  have  had  quite  a  snow  storm,  but 
[it]  is  clear  and  sunny  to-day  here,  but  sloshy. 
I  am  wearing  my  army  boots  —  anything  but  the 
dust.  Dear  mother,  I  want  to  see  you  and  Sis 
and  Mat  and  all  very  much.  If  I  can  get  a 
chance  I  think  I  shall  come  home  for  a  while. 
I  want  to  try  to  bring  out  a  book  of  poems,  a 
new  one,  to  be  called  "  Drum-Taps,"  and  I  want 
to  come  to  New  York  for  that  purpose,  too. 

Mother,  I  haven't  given  up  the  project  of 
lecturing,  either,  but  whatever  I  do,  I  shall  for 
the  main  thing  devote  myself  for  years  to 
come  to  these  wounded  and  sick,  what  litde 
I  can.  Well,  good-bye,  dear  mother,  for  pres- 
ent—  write  soon,     Walt. 

153 


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ii 


•'    ' 


I 


The  Wound   Dresser 


.'       M 


II       '^ 


VI 

WashingtoHy  March  15^  1864,  Dearest 
Mother  —  I  got  a  letter  from  JefFlast  Sunday  — 
he  says  you  have  a  very  bad  cold  indeed.  Dear 
mother,  I  feel  very  much  concerned  about  it ;  I 
do  hope  it  has  passed  over  before  this.  Jeff 
wrote  me  about  the  house.  I  hope  it  will  be  so 
you  can  both  remain  in  the  same  house ;  it  would 
be  much  more  satisfaction.  .  .  .  The  poor  boy 
very  sick  of  brain  fever  I  was  with,  is  dead ;  he 
was  only  19  and  a  noble  boy,  so  good  though 
out  of  his  senses  some  eight  days,  though  still 
having  a  kind  of  idea  of  things.  No  relative  or 
friend  was  with  him.  It  was  very  sad.  I  was 
with  him  considerable,  only  just  sitting  by  him 
soothing  him.  He  was  wandering  all  the  time. 
His  talk  was  so  affecting  it  kept  the  tears  in  my 
eyes  much  of  the  time.  The  last  twenty-four 
hours  he  sank  very  rapidly.  He  had  been  sick 
some  months  ago  and  was  put  in  the  6th  Invalid 
Corps  —  they  ought  to  have  sent  him  home  in- 
stead. The  next  morning  after  his  death  his 
brother  came,  a  very  fine  man,  postmaster  at 
Lyne  Ridge,  Pa.  —  he  was  much  affected,  and 
well  he  might  be. 

Mother,  I  think  it  worse  than  ever  here  in  the 
hospitals.  We  are  getting  the  dregs  as  it  were  of 
the  sickness  and  awful  hardships  of  the  past 
three  years.  There  is  the  most  horrible  cases 
of  diarrhoea  you  ever  conceived  of,  and  by  the 
hundreds  and  thousands ;   I  suppose  from  such 

154 


{}  ' 


Letters  of  1864 

diet  as  they  have  in  the  army.  Well,  dear 
mother,  I  will  not  write  any  more  on  the  sick, 
and  yet  I  know  you  wish  to  hear  about  them. 
Every  one  is  so  unfeeling ;  it  has  got  to  be  an  old 
story.  There  is  no  good  nursing.  O  I  wish 
you  were  —  or  rather  women  of  such  qualities  as 
you  and  Mat  —  were  here  in  plenty,  to  be  sta- 
tioned as  matrons  among  the  poor  sick  and 
wounded  men.  Just  to  be  present  would  be 
enough  —  O  what  good  it  would  r^o  them.  Mo- 
ther, I  feel  so  sick  when  I  see  what  kind  of  peo- 
ple there  are  among  them,  with  charge  over 
them  —  so  cold  and  ceremonious,  afraid  to  touch 
them.  Well,  mother,  I  fear  I  have  written  you 
a  flighty  kind  of  a  letter  —  I  write  in  haste. 
Walt. 

The  papers  came  right,  mother  —  love  to  Jeff, 
Mat,  and  all. 


«■  i 


i 


\' 


'I 


VII 

Washington,  March  22 ,  1864,  Dearest  Mother 
—  I  feel  quite  bad  to  hear  that  you  are  not  well  — 
have  a  pain  in  your  side,  and  a  very  bad  cold. 
Dear  mother,  I  hope  it  is  better.  I  wish  you  would 
write  to  me,  or  Jeff  would,  right  away,  as  I  shall 
not  feel  easy  until  I  hear.  I  rec'd  George's 
letter.  Jeff  wrote  with  it,  about  your  feeling 
pretty  sick,  and  the  pain.  Mother,  I  also  rec*d 
your  letter  a  few  days  before.  You  say  the 
Browns  acted  very  mean,  and  I  should  say  they 

15s 


I    I 


The  Wound   Dresser 

did  Indeed,  but  as  it  is  going  to  remain  the  same 

about  the  house,  I  should  let  it  all  pass.     I  am 

very  glad  Mat  and  JefF  are  going  to  remain ;  1 

should  not  have  felt  satisfied  if  they  and  you  had 

been  separated.     I  have  written  a  letter  to  Han, 

with  others  enclosed,  a  good  long  letter  (took  two 

postage  stamps).     I  have  written  to  George  too, 

directed  it  to  Knoxville.     Mother,  everything  is 

the  same  with  me  ;  I  am  feeling  very  well  indeed, 

the  old  trouble  of  my  head  stopt  and  my  ears 

affected,  has  not  troubled  me  any  since  I  came 

back  here  from  Brooklyn.     I  am  writing  this  in 

Major   Hapgood's  old  office,  cor.    15th  and  F 

streets,  where  I  have  my  old  table  and  window. 

It   is    dusty    and    chilly    to-day,    anything    but 

agreeable.     Gen.  Grant  is  expected  every  moment 

now  in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  to  take  active 

command.     I  have  just  this  moment  heard  from 

the  front — there  is  nothing  yet  of  a  movement,  but 

each  side  is    continually  on  the  alert,  expecting 

something  to  happen.     O  mother,  to  think  that 

we  are  to  have  here  soon  what  I  have  seen  so  many 

times,  the  awful  loads  and  trains  and  boat  loads 

of  poor  bloody  and    pale    and  wounded  young 

men  again  —  for  that  is  what  we  certainly  will, 

and  before  very  long.    I  see  all  the  little  signs,  get- 

ing  ready  in  the  hospitals,  etc. ;  it  is  dreadful  when 

one  thinks  about  it.     I  sometimes  think  over  the 

sights    I    have  myself  seen,  the    arrival    of  the 

wounded  after  a  battle,  and  the  scenes  on  the  field 

too,  and  I  can  hardly  believe  my  own  recollections. 

What  an  awful  thing  war  is  !    Mother,  it  seems  not 

156 


'•<r  •. 


Letters  of  1864 

men  but  a  lot  of  devils  and  butchers  butchering 
each  other. 

Dear  mother,  I  think  twenty  times  a  day  about 
your  sickness.  O,  I  hope  it  is  not  so  bad  as  JefF 
wrote.  He  said  you  was  worse  than  you  had  ever 
been  before,  and  he  would  write  me  again.  Well, 
he  must,  even  if  only  a  few  lines.  What  have 
you  heard  from  Mary  and  her  family,  anything  ? 
Well,  dear  mother,  I  hope  this  will  find  you  quite 
well  of  the  pain,  and  of  the  cold  —  write  about 
the  little  girls  and  Mat  and  all.     Walt. 


!*     I 


«! 


VIII 


Washington, March 2g,  /86^,  Dearest  Mother 
—  I  have  written  to  George  again  to  Knoxville. 
Things  seem  to  be  quiet  down  there  so  far.  We 
think  here  that  our  forces  are  going  to  be  made 
strongest  here  in  Virginia  this  spring,  and  every 
thing  bent  to  take  Richmond.  Grant  is  here ;  he 
is  now  down  at  headquarters  in  the  field.  Brandy 
station.  We  expect  fighting  before  long ;  there 
are  many  indications.  I  believe  I  told  you  they 
had  sent  up  all  the  sick  from  front.  [The  letter 
is  here  mutilated  so  as  to  be  illegible ;  from  the  few 
remaining  words,  however,  it  is  possible  to  gather 
that  the  writer  is  describing  the  arrival  of  a  train 
of  wounded,  over  600,  in  Washington  during  a 
terribly  rainy  afternoon.  The  letter  continues ;]  I 
could  not  keep  the  tears  out  of  my  eyes.  Many 
of  the  poor  young  men  had  to  be  moved  on 

157 


i 


.-n 


i .  i 


\v 


rf'i 


'«tl 


Ui 


The  Wound   Dresser 

stretchers,  with  blankets  over  them,  which  soon 
soaked  as  wet  as  water  in  the  rain.  Most  were 
sick  cases,  but  some  badly  wounded.  I  came 
up  to  the  nearest  hospital  and  helped.  Mother,  it 
was  a  dreadful  night  (last  Friday  night)  —  pretty 
dark,  the  wind  gusty,  and  the  rain  fell  in  torrents. 
One  poor  boy  —  this  is  a  sample  of  one  case  out 
of  the  600  —  he  seemed  to  be  quite  young,  he  was 
quite  small  (I  looked  at  his  body  afterwards),  he 
groaned  some  as  the  stretcher  bearers  were  carry- 
mg  him  along,  and  again  as  they  carried  him 
through  the  hospital  gate.  They  set  down  the 
stretcher  and. examined  him,  and  the  poor  boy  was 
dead.  They  took  him  into  the  ward,  and  the 
doctor  came  immediately,  but  it  was  all  of  no  use. 
The  worst  of  it  is,  too,  that  he  is  entirely  unknown 
—  there  was  nothing  on  his  clothes,  or  any  one 
with  him  to  identify  him,  and  he  is  altogether 
unknown.  Mother,  it  is  enough  to  rack  one's 
heart  —  such  things.  Very  likely  his  folks  will 
never  know  in  the  world  what  has  become  of  him. 
Poor,  poor  child,  for  he  appeared  as  though  he 
could  be  but  18.  I  feel  lately  as  though  I  must 
have  some  intermission.  I  feel  well  and  hearty 
enough,  and  was  never  better,  but  my  feelings  are 
kept  in  a  painful  condition  a  great  part  of  the 
time.  Things  get  worse  and  worse,  as  to  the 
amount  and  sufferings  of  the  sick,  and  as  I  have 
said  before,  those  who  have  to  do  with  them  are 
getting  more  and  more  callous  and  indifferent. 
Mother,  when  I  see  the  common  soldiers,  what  they 

go  through,  and  how  everybody  seems  to  try  to 

158 


h 


Letters  of  1864 

pick  upon  them,  and  what  humbug  there  is  over 
them  every  how,  even  the  dying  soldier's  money 
stolen  from  his  body  by  some  scoundrel  attendant, 
or  from  [the]  sick  one,  even  from  under  his  head, 
which  is  a  common  thing,  and  then  the  agony  I 
see  every  day,  I  get  almost  frightened  at  the 
world.  Mother,  I  will  try  to  write  more  cheer- 
fully next  time  — but  I  see  so  much.  Well,  good- 
bye for  present,  dear  mother,     Walt. 


IX 


Washington,  Thursday  afternoon,  March  j*/,  1864, 
Dearest  Mother  —  I  have  just  this  moment 
received  your  letter  dated  last  Monday  evening. 
Dear  mother,  I  have  not  seen  anything  in  any 
paper  where  the  51st  is,  nor  heard  anything,  but  I 
do  not  feel  any  ways  uneasy  about  them.  I  pre- 
sume they  are  at  Knoxville,  Tennessee.  Mother, 
they  are  now  paying  off  many  of  the  regiments 
in  this  army  —  but  about  George,  I  suppose  there 
will  be  delays  in  sending  money,  etc.  Dear  mother, 
I  wish  I  had  some  money  to  send  you,  but  I 
am  living  very  close  by  the  wind.  Mother,  I  will 
try  somehow  to  send  you  something  worth  while, 
and  I  do  hope  you  will  not  worry  and  feel  un- 
happy about  money  matters  ;  I  know  things  are 
very  high.  Mother,  I  suppose  you  got  my  letter 
written  Tuesday  last,  29th  March,  did  you  not? 
I  have  been  going  to  write  to  Jeff  for  more  than 
a  month  —  I  laid  out  to  write  a  good  long  letter, 

159 


1 


■  x 


f 


■ijl 


^HfT^ 


»   I, 


'\h 


The  Wound   Dresser 

but  something  has  prevented  me,  one  thing  and 
another ;  but  I  will  try  to  write  to-morrow  sure. 
Mother,  I  have  been  in  the  midst  of  suffering  and 
death  for  two  months  worse  than  ever  —  the  only 
comfort  is  that  1  have  been  the  cause  of  some 
beams  of  sunshine  upon  their  suffering  and 
gloomy  souls,  and  bodies  too.  Many  of  the 
dying  I   have  been  with,  too. 

Well,  mother,  you  must  not  worry  about  the 
grocery  bill,  etc.,  though  I  suppose  you  will  say 
that  it  is  easier  said  than  followed  (as  to  me,  I 
believe  I  worry  about  worldly  things  less  than 
ever,  if  that  is  possible).  Tell  Jeff  and  Mat  I 
send  them  my  love.  Gen.  Grant  has  just  come 
in  town  from  front.  The  country  here  is  all 
mad  again.  I  am  going  to  a  spiritualist  medium 
this  evening — I  expect  it  will  be  a  humbug,  of 
course.  I  will  tell  you  next  letter.  Dear  mother, 
keep  a  good  heart.     Walt. 

How  is  California  ?  Tell  Hat  her  Uncle  Walt 
will  come  home  one  of  these  days,  and  take  her 
to  New  York  to  walk  in  Broadway.  Poor  little 
Jirn,  I  should  like  to  see  him.  There  is  a  rich 
young  friend  of  mine  wants  me  to  go  to  Idaho 
with  him  to  make  money. 


X 

TVashingtoriy  Tuesday  afternoon,  April  5,  i86jf. 

Dearest    Mother  —  I    got  a   letter  from  Jeff 

yesterday  —  he   says    you   often  work  too  hard, 

exposing  yourself,  I  suppose,  scrubbing,  etc.,  and 

160 


^'^1 


Letterj  of  1864 

the  worst  of  it  is  I  am  afraid  it  is  true.  Mother, 
I  would  take  things  easy,  and  let  up  on  the  scrub- 
bing and  such  things;  they  may  be  needed  per- 
haps, but  they  ain't  half  as  much  needed  as  that 
you  should  be  as  well  as  possible,  and  free  from 

rheumatism  and  cold.    Jefl*  says  that has  had 

the  chicken  pox.  Has  she  got  all  over  it  ?  I  want 
to  hear.  So  Nance  has  had  another  child,  poor 
little  one ;  there  don't  s'jem  to  be  much  show  for 
it,  poor  little  young  one,  these  times.  We  are 
having  awful  rainy  weather  here.  It  is  raining 
to-day  steady  and  spiteful  enough.  The  soldiers 
in  camp  are  having  the  benefit  of  it,  and  the  sick, 
many  of  them.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  rheuma- 
tism and  also  throat  disease,  and  they  are  affected 
by  the  weather.  I  have  writ  to  George  again^ 
directed  to  Knoxville.  Mother,  I  got  a  letter 
this  morning  from  Lewis  Brown,  the  yo  mg  man 
that  had  his  leg  amputated  two  months  or  so  ago 
(the  one  that  I  slept  in  the  hospital  by  several 
nights  for  fear  of  hemorrhage  from  the  amputa- 
tion). He  is  home  at  Elkton,  Maryland,  on  fur- 
lough. He  wants  me  to  come  out  there,  but  I 
believe  I  shall  not  go  —  he  is  doing  very  well. 
There  are  many  very  bad  now  in  hospital,  so 
many  of  the  soldiers  are  getting  broke  down  after 
two  years,  or  two  and  a  half,  exposure  and  bad 
diet,  pork,  hard  biscuit,  bad  water  or  none  at  all, 
etc.,  etc.  —  so  we  have  them  brought  up  here. 
Oh,  it  is  terrible,  and  getting  worse,  worse,  worse. 
I  thought  it  was  bad;  to  see  these  I  sometimes 

think  is  more  pitiful  still. 
II  161 


i   1 


1 

I 


I 


k 


The  Wound   Dresser 


( I 


!!'4i* 


.  Well,  mother,  I  went  to  see  the  great  spirit 
mediun,  Foster.  There  \  ere  some  little  things 
some  might  call  curious,  perhaps,  but  it  is  a  shal- 
low thing  and  a  humbug.  A  gentleman  who  was 
with  me  was  somewhat  impressed,  but  I  could 
not  see  anything  in  it  worth  calling  supernatural. 
I  would  n't  turn  on  my  heel  to  go  again  and  see 
such  things,  or  twice  as  much.  We  had  table 
rappings  and  lots  of  nonsense.  I  will  give  you 
particulars  when  I  come  home  one  of  these  days. 
Jeff,  I  believe  there  is  a  fate  on  your  long  letter ;  I 
thought  I  would  write  it  to-day,  but  as  it  happens 
I  will  hardly  get  this  in  the  mail,  I  fear,  in  time 
for  to-day.  O  how  I  want  to  see  you  all,  and  Sis 
and  Hat.  Well,  I  have  scratched  out  a  great 
letter  just  as  fast  as  I  could  write. 

Wednesday  forenoon.  Mother,  I  didn't  get  the 
letter  in  the  mail  yesterday.  I  have  just  had 
my  breakfast,  some  good  tea  and  good  toast  and 
butter.  I  write  this  in  my  room,  456  Sixth  st. 
The  storm  ^eems  to  be  ever.  Dear  mother,  I 
hope  you  are  well  and  in  good  spirits  —  write  to 
me  often  as  you  can,  and  Jeff  too.  Any  news 
from  Han  ?     Walt. 


,,'^ 


.♦ 


[ 


« 


XI 


Washington^  April  10,  1S64.  Dearest 
Mother  —  I  rec'd  your  letter  and  sent  the  one 
you  sent  for  George  immediately  —  he  must 
have  got  it  the  next  day.     I    had  got  one  from 

162 


Letters  of  1864 

him    before   yours   arrived.     I    mean    to   go   to 
Annapolis  and  see  him. 

Mother,  we  expect  a  commencement  of  the 
fighting  below  very  soon ;  there  is  every  indi- 
cation of  it.  We  have  had  about  as  severe  rain 
storms  here  lately  as  I  ever  see.  It  is  middling 
pleasant  now.  There  are  exciting  times  in  Con- 
gress —  the  Copperheads  are  getting  furious  and 
want  to  recognize  the  Southern  Confederacy. 
This  is  a  pretty  time  to  talk  of  recognizing  such 
villains  after  what  they  have  done,  and  after  what 
has  transpired  the  last  three  years.  After  first 
Fredericksburg  I  felt  discouraged  myself,  and 
doubted  whether  our  rulers  could  carry  on  the 
war  —  but  that  has  passed  away.  The  war  must 
be  carried  on,  and  I  could  willingly  go  myself  in 
the  ranks  if  I  thought  it  would  profit  more  than 
at  present,  and  I  don't  know  sometimes  but  I 
shall  as  it  is.  Mother,  you  don't  know  what  a 
feeling  a  man  gets  after  being  in  the  active  sights 
and  influences  of  the  camp,  the  army,  the  wounded, 
etc.  He  gets  to  have  a  deep  feeling  he  never 
experienced  before  —  the  flag,  the  tune  of  Yankee 
Doodle  and  similar  things,  produce  an  efl^ect  on 
a  fellow  never  such  before.  I  have  seen  some 
bring  tears  on  the  men's  cheeks,  and  others  turn 
pale,  under  such  circumstances.  I  have  a  little 
flag;  it  belonged  to  one  of  our  cavalry  reg'ts ; 
presented  to  me  by  one  of  the  wounded.  It 
was  taken  by  the  Secesh  in  a  cavalry  fight, 
and  rescued  by  our  men  in  a  bloody  little  skir- 
mish.    It  cost  three  men's  lives,  just  to  get  one 

163 


i  I 


11 


I    J; 


I    ' 


f^l     * 


iK 


The  Wound   Dresser 

little  flag,  four  by  three.  Our  men  rescued  it, 
and  tore  it  from  the  breast  of  a  dead  Rebel  — 
all  that  just  for  the  name  of  getting  their  little 
banner  back  again.  The  man  that  got  it  was 
very  badly  wounded,  and  they  let  him  keep  it. 
I  was  with  him  a  good  deal ;  he  wanted  to  give 
me  something,  he  said,  he  did  n't  expect  to  live, 
so  he  gave  me  the  little  banner  as  a  keepsake. 
I  mention  this,  mother,  to  show  you  a  specimen 
of  the  feeling.  There  is  n't  a  reg't,  cavalry  or  in- 
fantry, that  would  n't  do  the  same  on  occasion. 

Tuesday  morning,  April  12,  Mother,  I  will 
finish  my  letter  this  morning.  It  is  a  beautiful 
day  to-day.  I  was  up  in  Congress  very  late  last 
night.  The  house  had  a  very  excited  night  ses- 
sion about  expelling  the  men  that  want  to  recog- 
nize the  Southern  Confederacy.  You  ought  to 
hear  the  soldiers  talk.  They  are  excited  to  mad- 
ness. We  shall  probably  have  hot  times  here, 
not  in  the  army  alone.  The  soidiers  are  true  as 
the  North  Star.  I  send  you  a  couple  of  envel- 
opes, and  one  to  George.  Write  how  you  are,  dear 
mother,  ana  all  the  rest.  I  want  to  see  you  all. 
Jeff,  my  dear  brother,  I  wish  you  was  here,  and 
Mat  too.  Write  how  Sis  is.  I  am  well,  as  usual ; 
indeed  first  rate  every  way.  I  want  to  come  on 
in  a  month  and  try  to  print  my  "  Drum-Taps." 
I  think  it  may  be  a  success  pecuniarily,  too. 
Dearest  mother,  I  hope  this  will  find  you  entirely 
well,  and  dear  sister  Mat  and  all.     Walt, 


164 


^"\ 


jcued  it, 
lebel  — 
eir  little 
t  it  was 
keep  it. 
to  give 
to  live, 
eepsake. 
pecimen 
ry  or  in- 
:asion. 
,    I    will 
beautiful 
late  last 
ight  ses- 
o  recog- 
Dught  to 
to  mad- 
les  here, 
true  as 
if  envel- 
are,  dear 
you  all. 
ere,  and 
s  usual ; 
ome  on 
[- 1  aps. 
ily,  too. 
entirely 


Letters  of  1864 

XII 

Washington^  Tuesday  noon,  April  /p,  1864,  D ear- 
EST  Mother  —  I  haven't  heard  any  news  from 
home  now  in  more  than  a  week.  I  hope  you 
are  well,  dear  mother,  and  all  the  rest  too.  There 
is  nothing  new  with  me.  I  can  only  write  the 
same  old  story  about  going  to  the  hospitals, 
etc.,  etc.  I  have  not  heard  anything  since  from 
George — have  you  heard  anything  furtL-r?  I 
have  written  to  him  to  Annapolis.  We  are  hav- 
ing it  pretty  warm  here  to-day,  after  a  long 
spell  of  rain  storms,  but  the  last  two  or  three 
days  very  fine.  Mother,  I  suppose  you  got 
my  letter  of  last  Tuesday,  !2th.  I  went  down 
to  the  Capitol  the  nighti  of  the  debate  on 
the  expulsion  of  Mr.  Long  last  week.  They 
had  night  sessions,  very  late.  I  like  to  go  to  the 
House  of  Representatives  at  night ;  it  is  the 
most  magnificent  hall,  so  rich  and  large,  and 
lighter  at  night  than  it  is  days,  and  still  not  a  light 
visible  —  it  comes  through  the  glass  roof —  but 
the  speaking  and  the  ability  of  the  members  is 
nearly  always  on  a  low  scale.  It  is  very  curious 
and  melancholy  to  see  such  a  rate  of  talent  there, 
such  tremendous  times  as  these  —  I  should  say 
about  the  same  range  of  genius  as  our  old  friend 
Dr.  Swaim,  just  about.  You  may  think  I  am 
joking,  but  I  am  not,  mother  —  I  am  speaking  in 
perfect  earnest.  The  Capitol  grows  upon  one 
in  time,  especially  as  they  have  got  the  great 
figure  on  top  of  it  now,  and  you  can  see  it  very 

165 


'.  .^J 


'1 


t 


I  'I 


»  ,r''i!; 


The  Wound   Dresser 

well.  It  is  a  great  bronze  figure,  the  Genius  of 
Liberty  I  suppose.  It  looks  wonderful  towards 
sundown.  I  love  to  go  and  look  at  it.  The  sun 
when  it  is  nearly  down  shines  on  the  headpiece 
and  it  dazzles  and  glistens  like  a  big  star ;  it 
looks  quite  curious. 

Well,  mother,  we  have  commenced  on  another 
summer,  and  what  it  will  bring  forth  who  can 
tell?  The  campaign  of  this  summer  is  expected 
here  to  be  more  active  and  severe  than  any  yet. 
As  I  told  you  in  a  former  letter.  Grant  is  deter- 
mined to  bend  everything  to  take  Richmond  and 
break  up  the  banditti  of  scoundrels  that  have 
stuck  themselves  up  there  as  a  "  government." 
He  is  in  earnest  about  it;  his  whole  soul  and 
all  his  thoughts  night  and  day  are  upon  it.  He 
is  probably  the  most  in  earnest  of  any  man  in 
command  or  in  the  Government  either —  that  *s 
something,  ain't  it,  mother  ?  —  and  they  are  bend- 
ing everything  to  fight  for  their  last  chance  — 
calling  in  their  forces  from  Southwest,  etc.  Dear 
mother,  give  my  love  to  dear  brother  JeflF  and 
Mat  and  all.     I  write  this  in  mv  room,  6th  st. 


Wa 


LT. 


XIII 


IVashington^  April 26^  1864,  Dearest  Mother 
—  Burnside's  army  passed  through  here  yesterday. 
I  saw  George  and  walked  with  hin  in  the  regi- 
ment for  some  distance  and  had  quite  a  talk.  He 
is  very  well ;  he  is  very   much  tanned  and  looks 

166 


"V-    T 


m 


enius  of 
towards 
rhe  sun 
sadpiece 
star ;    it 

another 
/ho  can 
ixpected 
any  yet. 
is  deter- 
)nd  and 
at  have 
timent." 
3ul  and 
it.  He 
man  in 
-  that  *s 
e  bend- 
tance  — 
Dear 

eff  and 

h  St. 

Walt. 


loTHER 

sterday. 
he  regi- 
c.  He 
looks 


Letters  of  1864 

hardy.  I  told  him  all  the  latest  news  from  home. 
George  stands  it  very  well,  and  looks  and  be- 
haves ihe  same  noble  and  good  fellow  he  always 
was  and  always  will  be.  It  was  on  14th  st.  I 
watched  three  hours  before  the  51st  came  along. 
I  joined  him  just  before  they  came  to  where  the 
President  and  Gen.  Burnside  were  standing  witii 
others  on  a  balcony,  and  the  interest  of  seeing  me, 
etc.,  made  George  forget  to  notice  the  President 
and  salute  him.  He  was  a  little  annoyed  at  for- 
getting it.  I  called  his  attention  to  it,  but  we  had 
passed  a  little  too  far  on,  and  George  would  n't 
turn  round  even  ever  so  little.  However,  there 
was  a  great  many  more  than  half  the  army  passed 
without  noticing  Mr.  Lincoln  and  the  others,  for 
there  was  a  great  crowd  all  through  the  streets, 
especially  here,  and  the  place  where  the  President 
stood  was  not  conspicuous  from  the  rest.  The 
9th  Corps  made  a  very  fine  show  indeed.  There 
were,  I  should  think,  five  very  full  regiments  of  new 
black  troops,  under  Gen.  Ferrero.  They  looked 
and  marched  very  well.  It  looked  funny  to  see 
the  President  standing  with  his  hat  off  to  them 
just  the  same  as  the  rest  as  they  passed  by.  Then 
there  [were  the]  Michigan  regiments  ;  one  of  them 
was  a  regiment  of  sharpshooters,  partly  composed 
of  Indians.  Then  there  was  a  pretty  strong  force 
of  artillery  and  a  middling  force  of  cavalry  — many 
New  York,  Pennsylvania,  Massachusetts,  R.L,  etc., 
reg'ts.  All  except  the  blacks  were  veterans  [that 
had]  seen  plenty  of  fighting.  Mother,  it  is  very 
different  to  see  a  real  armv  of  figrhtine  men, 


Mi 


t 


I 

i 


167 


igntmg 


J  '^ 


The  Wound   Dresser 


k ', 


one  of  those  shows  in  Brooklyn,  or  New  York, 
or  on  Fort  Greene.  Mother,  it  was  a  curious 
sight  to  see  these  ranks  after  rank  of  our  own  dear- 
est blood  of  men,  mostly  young,  march  by,  worn 
and  sunburnt  and  sweaty,  with  well-worn  clothes 
and  thin  bundles,  and  knapsacks,  tin  cups,  and 
some  with  frying  pans  strapt  over  their  backs, 
all  dirty  and  sweaty,  nothing  real  neat  about  them 
except  their  muskets ;  but  they  were  all  as  clean 
and  bright  as  silver.  They  were  four  or  five 
hours  passing  along,  marching  with  wide  ranks 
pretty  quickly,  too.  It  is  a  great  sight  to  see  an 
army  25  or  30,000  on  the  march.  They  are  all 
so  gay,  too.  Poor  fellows,  nothing  dampens  their 
spirits.  They  all  got  soaked  with  rain  the  night 
before.  I  saw  Fred  McReady  and  Capt.  Sims, 
and  Col.  Le  Gendre,  etc.  I  don't  know  exactly 
where  Burnside's  army  is  going.  Among  other 
rumors  it  is  said  they  [are]  to  go  [with]  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac  to  act  as  a  reserve  force,  etc. 
Another  is  that  they  are  to  make  a  flank  march, 
to  go  round  and  get  Lee  on  the  side,  etc.  I 
have  n't  been  out  this  morning  and  don't  know 
what  news  —  we  know  nothing,  only  that  there  is 
without  doubt  to  be  a  terrible  campaign  here  in 
Virginia  this  summer,  and  that  all  who  know  deep- 
est about  it  are  very  serious  about  it.  Mother, 
it  is  serious  times.  I  do  not  feel  to  fret  or 
whimper,  but  in  my  heart  and  soul  about  our 
country,  the  forthcoming  campaign  with  all  its 
vicissitudes  and  the  wounded  and  slain —  I  dare 

say,  mother,  I  feel  the  reality  more  than   some 

168 


r  1 


V  York, 
curious 
m  dear- 
V,  worn 
clothes 
ps,  and 
backs, 
ut  them 
as  clean 
or  five 
e  ranks 
)  see  an 
/  are  all 
;ns  their 
le  night 
t.  Sims, 
exactly 
ig  other 
th]   the 
rce,  etc. 
march, 
etc.     I 
t  know 
there  is 
ere  in 
deep- 
other, 
fret  or 
ut  our 
all  its 
I  dare 
some 


Letters  of  1864 

because  I  am  in  the  midst  of  its  saddest  results 
so  much.  Others  may  say  what  they  like,  I 
believe  in  Grant  and  in  Lincoln,  too.  I  think 
Grant  deserves  to  be  trusted.  He  is  working 
continually.  No  one  knows  his  plans ;  we  will 
only  know  them  when  he  puts  them  in  operation. 
Our  army  is  very  large  here  in  Virginia  this  spring, 
and  they  are  still  pouring  in  from  east  and  west. 
You  don't  see  about  it  in  the  papers,  but  we  have 
a  very  large  army  here. 

Mother,  I  am  first  rate  in  health,  thank  God; 
I  never  was  better.  Dear  mother,  have  you  got 
over  all  that  distress  and  sickness  in  your  head? 
You  must  write  particular  about  it.  Dear  brother 
Jeff,  how  are  you,  and  how  is  Matty,  and  how 
the  dear  little  girls  ?  Jeff,  I  believe  the  devil  is 
in  it  about  my  writing  you  ;  I  have  laid  out  so 
many  weeks  to  write  you  a  good  long  letter,  and 
something  has  shoved  it  off  each  time.  Never 
mind,  mother's  letters  keep  you  posted.  You 
must  write,  and  don't  forget  to  tell  me  all  about 
Sis.  Is  she  as  good  and  interesting  as  she  was 
six  months  ago  ?  Mother,  have  you  heard  any- 
thing from  Han?  Mother,  I  have  just  had  my 
breakfast.  I  had  it  in  my  room  —  some  hard 
biscuit  warmed  on  the  stove,  and  a  bowl  of  strong 
tea  with  good  milk  and  sugar.  I  have  given  a 
Michigan  soldier  his  breakfast  with  me.  He  rel- 
ished it,  too  ;  he  has  just  gone.  Mother,  I  have 
just  heard  again  that  Burnside's  troops  are  to  be 
a  reserve  to  protect  Washington,  so  there  may  be 

something  in  it.     Walt. 

169' 


:  { ..i 


li  > 


;1    1 


li 


! 


i 


The  Wound   Dresser 

It  is  very  fine  weather  here  yesterday  and  to- 
day. The  hospitals  are  very  full ;  they  are  putting 
up  hundreds  of  hospital  tents. 


\  If  \ ' I 

I-       '  I 


mi'  ,  I 


/S 


XIV 


Washington^  April 28 y  1864,  Dearest  Mother 
—  I  thought  I  would  write  you  just  a  line,  though 
I  have  nothing  of  importance  —  only  the  talk  of 
the  btreet  here  seems  more  and  more  to  assert 
that  Burnside's  army  is  to  remain  near  here  to 
protect  Washington  and  act  as  a  reserve,  so  that 
Grant  can  move  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  upon 
Richmond,  without  being  compelled  to  turn  and 
be  anxious  about  the  Capital ;  also  that  Burn- 
side  can  attend  to  Lee  if  the  latter  should  send 
any  force  up  west  of  here  (what  they  call  the 
valley  of  the  Shenandoah),  or  invade  Pennsylvania 
again.  I  thought  you  would  like  to  hear  this  ;  it 
looks  plausible,  but  there  are  lots  of  rumors  of  all 
k'nds.  I  cannot  hear  where  Burnside's  army  is, 
as  they  don't  allow  the  papers  to  print  army 
movements,  but  I  fancy  they  arc  very  near  Wash- 
ington, the  other  side  of  Arlington  heights,  this 
moment.  Mother,  I  wrote  yesterday  to  Han, 
and  sent  one  of  George's  letters  from  Annapolis. 
Mother,  I  suppose  you  got  my  letter  of  Tuesday, 
26th.  I  have  not  heard  anything  from  you  in 
quite  a  little  while.  I  am  still  well.  The  weather 
is  fine  ;    quite  hot  yesterday.      Mother,  I  am  now 

going  down  to  see  a  poor  soldier  who  is  very  low 

170 


::!l 


Letters  of  1864 

with  a  long  diarrhoea  —  he  cannot  recover.  When 
I  was  with  him  last  night,  he  asked  me  before  I 
went  away  to  ask  God's  blessing  on  him.  He 
says,  I  am  no  scholar  and  you  are  —  poor  dying 
man,  I  told  him  I  hoped  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart  God  would  bless  him,  and  bring  him  up 
yet.  I  soothed  him  as  well  as  I  could  ;  it  was 
affecting,  I  can  tell  you.  Jeff,  I  wrote  to  Mr. 
Kirkwood  yesterday  to  44  Pierrcpont  st.  He 
sent  me  some  money  last  Monday.  Is  Probasco 
still  in  the  store  in  N.  Y.  ?  Dear  sister  Mat,  I 
quite  want  to  see  you  and  California,  not  forget- 
ting my  little  Hattie,  too.     Walt. 

2  o'clock,  28th  April.  Dearest  Mother  —  Just 
as  I  was  going  to  mail  this  I  received  authentic 
information  [that]  Burnside's  army  is  now  about 
16  or  18  miles  south  of  here,  at  a  place  called 
Fairfax  Court  House.  They  had  last  night  no 
orders  to  move  at  present,  and  I  rather  think 
they  will  remain  there,  or  near  there.  What  I 
have  written  before  as  a  rumor  about  their  being 
to  be  held  as  a  reserve,  to  act  whenever  occasion 
may  need  them,  is  now  quite  decided  on.  You 
may  hear  a  rumor  in  New  York  that  they  have 
been  shipped  in  transports  from  Alexandria  — 
there  is  no  truth  in  it  at  all.  Grant's  Army  of 
the  Potomac  is  probably  to  do  the  heavy  work. 
His  army  is  strong  and  full  of  fight.  Mother, 
I  think  it  is  to-day  the  noblest  army  of  soldiers 
that  ever  marched  —  nobody  can  know  the  men 
as  well  as  I  do,  I  sometimes  think. 

Mother,  I  am  writing  this  in  Willard's  hotel, 

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The  Wound   Dresser 

on  my  way  down  to  hospital  after  I  leave  this 
at  post  office.  I  shall  come  out  to  dinner  at  4 
o'clock  and  then  go  back  to  hospital  again  in 
evening. 

Good  bye,  dear  mother  and  all.     Walt. 


XV 


I  :l 


i  i 


\  i 


Washington,  May  j,  1864,  Dearest  Mother 
—  I  received  your  letter  dated  last  Friday  afternoon, 
with  one  from  Mr.  Heyde.  It  seems  by  that 
Han  is  better,  but,  as  you  say,  it  would  be  much 
more  satisfactory  if  Han  would  write  to  us  her- 
self. Mother,  I  believe  I  told  you  I  sent  a  letter 
to  Han  last  week,  enclosing  one  of  George's  from 
Annapolis.  I  was  glad  to  get  Heyde's  letter, 
though,  as  it  was.  Mother,  I  am  sorry  you  still 
have  returns  of  your  cold.  Does  it  affect  your 
head  like  it  did  ?  Dear  mother,  I  hope  you  will 
not  expose  yourself,  nor  work  too  much,  but 
take  things  easier.  I  have  nothing  different  to 
write  about  the  war,  or  movements  here.  What 
I  wrote  last  Thursday,  about  Burnside's  Corps 
being  probably  used  as  a  reserve,  is  still  talked  of 
here,  and  seems  to  be  probable.  A  large  force  is 
necessary  to  guard  the  railroad  between  here  and 
Culpepper,  and  also  to  keep  from  any  emergency 
that  might  happen,  and  I  should  n't  wonder  if 
the  9th  would  be  used  for  such  purpose,  at  least 
for  the  present.     I  think  the  51st  must  be  down 

172 


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ternoon, 
by  that 
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s  letter, 
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ch,   but 
to 
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Is  Corps 
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force  is 
ere  and 
urgency 
nder  if 
at  least 
e  down 


erent 


Letters  of  1864 

not  very  far  from  Fairfax  Court  House  yet,  but  I 
haven't  heard  certain. 

Mother,  I  have  seen  a  person  up  from  front 
this  morning.  There  is  no  movement  yet  and 
no  fighting  started.  The  men  are  in  their  camps 
yet.  Gen.  Grant  is  at  Culpepper.  You  need  not 
pay  the  slightest  attention  to  such  things  as  you 
mention  in  the  Eagle^  about  the  9th  Corps  —  the 
writer  of  it,  and  very  many  of  the  writers  on  war 
matters  in  those  papers,  don't  know  one  bit  more 
on  what  they  are  writing  about  than  Ed  does. 
Mother,  you  say  in  your  letter  you  got  my  letter 
the  previous  afternoon.  Why,  mother,  you 
ought  to  [have]  got  it  Wednesday  forenoon,  or 
afternoon  at  furthest.  This  letter  now  will  get  in 
New  York  Wednesday  morning,  by  daylight  — 
you  ought  to  get  it  before  noon.  The  postmaster 
in  Brooklyn  must  have  a  pretty  set  of  carriers,  to 
take  twice  as  long  to  take  a  letter  from  New  York 
to  you  as  it  does  to  go  from  Washington  to 
N.  Y.  Mother,  I  suppose  you  got  a  letter  from  me 
Friday,  also,  as  I  wrote  a  second  letter  on  Thurs- 
day last,  telling  you  the  9th  Corps  was  camped 
then  about  sixteen  miles  from  here. 

About  George's  pictures,  perhaps  you  better 
wait  till  I  hear  from  him,  before  sending  them. 
I  remain  well  as  usual.  The  poor  fellow  I  men- 
tioned in  one  of  my  letters  last  week,  with  diar- 
rhoea, that  wanted  me  to  ask  God's  blessing  on 
him,  was  still  living  yesterday  afternoon,  but  just 
living.  He  is  only  partially  conscious,  is  all 
wasted  away  to  nothing,  and  lies  most  of  the  time 

173 


•      V 


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1    H 
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\.    >     i 

'   5     i 


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I .  >• 


h 


The  Wound   Dresser 


Is  i 


in  half  stupor,  as  they  give  him  brandy  copiously. 
Yesterday  J  was  there  by  him  a  few  minutes. 
He  is  very  much  averse  to  taking  brandy,  and 
there  was  some  trouble  in  getting  him  to  take  it. 
He  is  almost  totally  deaf  the  last  dve  or  six  days. 
There  is  no  chance  for  him  at  all.  Quite  a  parti- 
cular friend  of  mine,  Oscar  Cunningham,  an  Ohio 
boy,  had  his  leg  amputated  yesterday  close  up  by 
the  thigh.  It  was  a  pretty  tough  operation.  He 
was  badly  wounded  just  a  year  ago  to-day  at 
Chancellorsville  and  has  suffered  a  great  deal ; 
lately  got  erysipelas  in  his  leg  and  foot.  I  forget 
whether  I  have  mentioned  him  before  or  not. 
He  was  a  very  large,  noble-looking  young  man 
when  I  first  see  him.  The  doctor  thinks  he  will 
live  and  get  up,  but  I  consider  [it]  by  no  means  so 
certain.  He  is  very  much  prostrated.  Well, 
dear  mother,  you  must  write  and  Jeff  too  —  I  do 
want  to  see  you  all  very  much.  How  does  Mat 
get  along,  and  how  little  Sis  and  all  ^  I  send  my 
love  to  you  and  Jeff  and  all.  We  are  having  a 
very  pleasant,  coolish  day  here.  I  am  going  down 
to  post  office  to  leave  this,  and  then  up  to  my  old 
friends  the  O'Connors  to  dinner,  and  then  down 
to  hospital.  Well,  good-bye,  dear  mother,  for 
present.     Walt. 

Tuesday  afternoon,  j  o'clock.  Mother,  just  as  I 
was  going  to  seal  my  letter.  Major  Hapgood  has 
come  in  from  the  P.  O.  and  brings  me  a  few  lines 
from  George,  which  I  enclose  —  you  will  see  they 
were  written  four  days  ago. 


tl 
tl 


tl 


174 


Letters  of  1864 


XVI 


"  I 


V.i 


I 


TFashington,  May  6,  1864,  Dearest  Mother 
—  I  write  you  a  few  lines,  as  I  know  you  feel  anx- 
ious these  times.  I  suppose  the  New  York  papers 
must  have  it  in  this  morning  that  the  Army  of 
the  Potomac  has  made  a  move,  and  has  crossed 
the  Rapidan  river.  At  any  rate  that  is  the  case. 
As  near  as  I  can  learn  about  Burnside^s  army, 
that  lies  in  the  rear  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac 
(from  Warrenton,  Virginia  and  so  to  Rappahan- 
nock river  and  up  toward  Manassas).  It  still 
appears  to  be  kept  as  a  reserve  and  for  emergen- 
cies, etc.  I  have  not  heard  anything  from  the 
51st.  Mother,  of  course  you  got  mv  letter  of 
Tuesday,  3rd,  with  the  letter  from  George  dated 
Bristoe  station.  I  have  writ  to  George  since,  and 
addressed  the  letter  Warrenton,  Va.,  or  elsewhere, 
thinking  he  might  get  it. 

Mother,  the  idea  is  entertained  quite  largely 
here  that  the  Rebel  army  will  retreat  to  Richmond, 
as  it  is  well  known  that  Grant  is  very  strong 
(most  folks  say  too  strong  for  Lee).  I  suppose 
you  know  we  menace  them  almost  as  much  from 
up  Fortress  Monroe  as  we  do  from  the  Rapidan. 
Butler  and  W.  F.  Smith  are  down  there  with  at 
least  fifty  or  sixty  thousand  men,  and  will  move 
up  simultaneous.y  with  Grant.  The  occasion  is 
very  serious,  and  anxious,  but  somehow  I  am  full 
of  hope,  and  feel  that  we  shall  take  Richmond  — 
(I  hope  to  go  there  yet  before  the  hot  weather  is 

^7S 


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^?^     : 


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The  Wound   Dresser 

past).     Dear  mother,  I  hope  you  are  well,  and 
little  California  —  love  to  JefF  and  Mat  and  all, 

Walt. 

Mother,  you  ought  to  get  this  letter  Saturday 
forenoon,  as  it  will  be  in  N.  Y.  by  sunrise  Satur- 
day, yth. 

Mother,  the  poor  soldier  with  diarrhoea  is  still 
living,  but,  O,  what  a  looking  object ;  death  would 
be  a  boon  to  him ;  he  cannot  last  many  hours. 
Cunningham,  the  Ohio  boy  with  leg  amputated  at 
thigh,  has  picked  up  beyond  expectation  now !  — 
looks  altogether  like  getting  well.  The  hospitals 
are  very  full.  I  am  very  well  indeed  —  pretty 
warm  here  to-day 


Hi 


I  »  M   1      '1 


XVII 

Washington^  Monday y  2  o'clock  —  May  p,  '6^, 
Dearest  Mother  —  There  is  nothing  from  the 
army  more  than  you  know  in  the  N.  Y.  papers. 
The  fighting  has  been  hard  enough,  but  the  papers 
make  lots  of  additional  items,  and  a  good  deal 
that  they  just  entirely  make  up.  There  are  from 
6oo  to  looo  wounded  coming  up  here  —  not  6  to 
8ooo  as  the  papers  have  it.  I  cannot  hear  what 
part  the  9th  Corps  took  in  the  fight  of  Friday 
and  afterwards,  nor  whether  they  really  took  any 
at  all  —  (they,  the  papers,  are  determined  to  make 
up  just  anything).  Mother,  I  received  your  let- 
ter and  Han's  —  and  was  glad  indeed  to  get  both. 

176 


Letters  of  1864 

Mother,  you  must  not  be  under  such  apprehen- 
sion, as  I  think  it  is  not  warranted. 

So  far  as  we  get  news  here,  we  are  gaining  the 
day,  so  far  decidedly.  If  the  news  we  hear  is  true 
that  Lee  has  been  repulsed  and  driven  back  by 
Grant,  and  that  we  are  masters  of  the  field,  and  pur- 
suing them  —  then  I  think  Lee  will  retreat  south, 
and  Richmond  will  be  abandoned  by  the  Rebs. 
But  of  course  time  only  can  develope  what  will 
happen.  Mother,  I  will  write  again  Wednesday, 
or  before,  if  I  hear  anything  to  write.  Love  to 
JefF  and  Mat  and  all.     Walt. 


/I 


t  H 


XVIII 


Washington^  May  10^  '64  (/^  past  2p,  m.)  Dear- 
est Mother  —  There  is  nothing  perhaps  more 
than  you  see  in  the  N.  Y.  papers.  The  fighting 
down  in  the  field  on  the  6th  I  think  ended  in  our 
favor,  though  with  pretty  severe  losses  to  some  of 
our  divisions.  The  fighting  is  about  70  miles 
from  here,  and  50  from  Richmond  —  on  the  yth 
and  8th  followed  up  by  the  Rebel  army  hauling 
off,  they  say  retreating,  and  Meade  pursuing. 
It  is  quite  mixed  yet,  but  I  guess  we  have  the 
best  of  it.  If  we  really  have,  Richmond  is  a 
goner,  for  they  cannot  do  any  better  than  they 
have  done.  The  9th  Corps  was  in  the  fight,  and 
where  I  cannot  tell  yet,  but  from  the  wounded  I 
have  seen  I  don't  think  that  Corps  was  deeply  in. 

177 


12 


/|  .% 


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If 


The  Wound  Dresser 

I  have  seen  300  wounded.  They  came  in  last 
night.  I  asked  for  men  of  9th  Corps,  but  could 
not  find  any  at  all.  These  300  men  were  not 
badly  wounded,  mostly  in  arms,  hands,  trunk  of 
body,  etc.  They  could  all  walk,  though  some 
had  an  awful  time  of  it.  They  had  to  fight  their 
way  with  the  worst  in  the  middle  out  of  the 
region  of  Fredericksburg,  and  so  on  where  they 
could  get  across  the  Rappahannock  and  get  where 
they  found  transportation  to  Washington.  The 
Gov't  has  decided,  (or  rather  Gen.  Meade  has)  to 
occupy  Fredericksburg  for  depot  and  hospital  — 
(I  think  that  is  a  first  rate  decision)  —  so  the 
wounded  men  will  receive  quick  attention  and 
surgery,  instead  of  being  racked  through  the  long 
journey  up  here.  Still,  many  come  in  here. 
Mother,  my  impression  is  that  we  have  no  great 
reason  for  alarm  or  sadness  about  George  so  far. 
Of  course  I  know  nothing.  Well,  good-bye,  dear- 
est mother.     Walt. 

Mother,  I  wrote  you  yesterday,  too.  Tell  dear 
brother  Jeflf  to  write  me.  Love  to  Mat.  The 
poor  diarrhoea  man  died,  and  it  was  a  boon. 
Oscar  Cunningham,  82nd  Ohio,  has  had  a  re- 
lapse. I  fear  it  is  going  bad  with  him.  Lung 
diseases  are  quite  plenty — night  before  last  I 
staid  in  hospital  all  night  tending  a  poor  fellow. 
It  has  been  awful  hot  here  —  milder  to-day. 


'A  - 


178 


:^jaK:^^ragn  rsac-r 


Letters  of  1864 

XIX 

[^PTashington]  May  12,  V2  past  5  p,  m.  Dear- 
est Mother  —  George  is  all  right,  unhurt,  up  to 
Tuesday  morning,  loth  inst.  The  51st  was  in  a 
bad  battle  last  Friday  ;  lost  20  killed,  between  40 
and  50  wounded.  I  have  just  seen  some  of  the 
51st  wounded  just  arrived,  one  of  them  Fred 
Saunders,  Corporal  Co.  K,  George's  company. 
He  said  when  he  left  the  51st  was  in  rear  on 
guard  duty.  He  left  Tuesday  morning  last. 
The  papers  have  it  that  Burnside*s  Corps  was  in 
a  fight  Tuesday,  but  I  think  it  most  probable  the 
51st  was  not  in  it. 

Fred  McReady  is  wounded  badly,  but  not 
seriously.  Sims  is  safe.  You  see  Le  Gendre  is 
wounded  —  he  was  shot  through  the  bridge  of 
nose. 

Mother,  you  ought  to  get  this  Friday  forenoon, 
13  th.  I  will  write  again  soon.  Wrote  once  be- 
fore to-day.     Walt. 


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179 


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The  Wound   Dresser 


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I    V  i  I 


XX 

Washingtotiy  May  /j,  1864, 2  0* clock p,  m.  Dear- 
est Mother  —  I  wrote  you  a  hurried  letter  late 
yesterday  afternoon  but  left  it  myself  at  the  P.  O. 
in  time  for  the  mail.  You  ought  to  have  got  it 
this  forenoon,  or  afternoon  at  furthest.  I  sent  you 
two  letters  yesterday.  I  hope  the  carrier  brings  you 
your  letters  the  same  day.  I  wrote  to  the  Brooklyn 
postmaster  about  it.  1  have  heard  from  George 
up  to  Tuesday  morning  last,  loth,  till  which 
time  he  was  safe.  The  battle  of  Friday,  6th,  was 
very  severe.  George's  Co.  K  lost  one  acting 
sergeant,  Sturgis,  killed,  2  men  killed,  4  wounded. 
As  I  wrote  yesterday,  I  have  seen  here  Corp. 
Fred  Saunders  of  Co.  K,  who  was  wounded  in  side, 
nothing  serious,  in  Friday's  fight,  and  came  up 
here.  I  also  talked  with  Serg.  Brown,  Co,  F, 
51st,  rather  badly  wounded  in  right  shoulder. 
Saunders  said,  when  he  left  Tuesday  morning 
he  heard  (or  saw  them  there,  I  forget  which)  the 
51st  and  its  whole  division  were  on  guard  duty 
toward  the  rear.  The  9th  Corps,  however,  has 
had  hard  fighting  since,  but  whether  the  division 
or  brigade  the  51st  is  in  was  in  the  fights  of 
Tuesday,  loth,  (a  pretty  severe  one)  or  Wednes- 
day, I  cannot  tell,  and  it  is  useless  to  make  cal- 
culations —  and  the  only  way  is  to  wait  and  hope 
for  the  best.  As  I  wrote  yesterday,  there  were 
some  30  of  51st  reg't  killed  and  50  wounded  in 
Friday's  battle,   6th  inst.     I  have  seen  Col.  Le 

Gendre.     He  is  here  in  Washington  not  far  from 

180 


Letters  of  1864 

where  I  am,  485  12th  st.  is  his  address.  Poor 
man,  I  felt  sorry  indeta  for  him.  He  is  badly- 
wounded  and  disfigured.  He  is  shot  through 
the  bridge  of  the  nose,  and  left  eye  probably  lost. 
I  spent  a  little  time  with  him  this  forenoon. 
He  is  suffering  very  much,  spoke  of  George  very 
kindly ;  said  "  Your  brother  is  well."  His  or- 
derly told  me  he  saw  him,  George,  Sunday  night 
last,  well.  Fred  McReady  is  wounded  in  hip, 
I  believe  bone  fractured  —  bad  enough,  but  not 
deeply  serious.  I  cannot  hear  of  his  arrival  here. 
If  he  comes  I  shall  find  him  immediately  and 
take  care  of  him  myself  He  is  probably  yet 
at  Fredericksburg,  but  will  come  up,  I  think. 
Yesterday  and  to-day  the  badly  wounded  are 
coming  in.  The  long  lists  oi  previous  arrivals^ 
(I  suppose  they  are  all  reprinted  at  great  length 
in  N.  Y.  papers)  are  of  men  three-fourths  of 
them  quite  slightly  wounded,  and  the  rest  hurt 
pretty  bad.  I  was  thinking,  mother,  if  one  could 
see  the  men  who  arrived  in  the  first  squads,  of 
two  or  three  hundred  at  a  time,  one  would  n*t  be 
alarmed  at  those  terrible  long  lists.  Still  there 
is  a  sufficient  sprinkling  of  deeply  distressing 
cases.  I  find  my  hands  full  all  the  time,  with 
new  and  old  cases  —  poor  suffering  young  men, 
I  think  of  them,  and  do  try,  mother,  to  do  vvhat 
I  can  for  them,  (and  not  think  of  the  vexatious 
skedaddlers  and  merely  scratched  ones,  of  whom 
there  are  too  many  lately  come  here). 

Dearest  mother,  I  hope  you  and  all  are  well  — 
you  must  keep  a  good  heart.     Still,  the  fighting 

181 


'1.1 


\ 


I    ' 


The  Wound   Dresser 

is  very  mixed,  bui  it  seems  steadily  turning  into 
real  successes  for  Grant.  The  news  to-day  here 
is  very  good — you  will  see  it  [in  the]  N .  Y.  papers. 
I  steadily  believe  Grant  is  going  to  succeed,  and 
that  we  shall  have  Richmond  —  but  O  what  a 
price  to  pay  for  it.  We  have  had  a  good  rain 
here  and  it  is  pleasanter  and  cooler.  I  shall 
write  very  soon  again.     Walt. 


li 


'IW' 


XXI 

Washingtony  May  i8y  1864,  Dearest  Mother 
—  I  will  only  write  you  a  hasty  note  this  time,  as 
I  am  pretty  tired,  and  my  head  feels  disagreeable 
from  being  in  too  much.  I  was  up  yesterday 
to  Carver  hospital  and  again  saw  the  man  of  the 
51st,  Thos.  McCowell,  who  told  me  of  George, 
up  to  latter  part  of  Thursday,  12th  inst.  I  ques- 
tioned him,  and  his  story  was  very  clear,  so  I 
felt  perfectly  satisfied.  He  is  wounded  in  hand ; 
will  be  transferred  soon  to  New  York  and  may 
call  on  you.  He  is  a  young  Irishman,  and  seems 
to  be  a  very  good  fellow  indeed.  I  have  written 
to  George,  day  before  yesterday.  Did  you  send 
my  last  letter  to  Han  ?  If  not,  send  it  yet. 
Mother,  I  see  such  awful  things.  I  expect  one 
of  these  days,  if  I  live,  I  shall  have  awful  thoughts 
and  dreams  —  but  it  is  such  a  great  thing  to  be 

able  to  do  some  real  good  ;  assuage  these  horri- 

182 


ing  into 
lay  here 
,  papers. 
;ed,  and 

what  a 
>od  rain 

I    shall 


Letters  of  1864 

ble  pains  and  wounds, and  save  life  even  —  that's 
the  only  thing  that  keeps  a  fellow  up. 

Well,  dear  mother,  I  make  such  reckoning  of 
yet  coming  on  and  seeing  you.  How  I  want  to 
see  JefF,  too  —  O,  it  is  too  bad  I  have  not  written 
to  him  so  long  — and  Mat,  too,  and  little  Cali- 
fornia and  all.  I  am  going  out  now  a  little  while. 
I  remain  first  rate,  as  well  as  ever.     Walt 


<  »j 


U) 


XXII 


VI  OTHER 

time,  as 

Lgreeable 

esterday 

1  of  the 

George, 

I  ques- 
ir,  so  I 
n  hand ; 
nd  may 
id  seems 

written 
ou  send 

it   yet. 

5ect  one 

houghts 

g  to  be 

le  horri- 


Washington,  Monday  forenoon y  May  ^j,  ^64, 
Dear  Brother  Jeff — I  received  your  letter  yester- 
day. I  too  had  got  a  few  lines  from  George,  dated 
on  the  field,  1 6th.  He  said  he  had  also  just  written 
to  mother.  I  cannot  make  out  there  has  been  any 
fighting  since  in  which  the  9th  Corps  has  been 
engaged.  I  do  hope  mother  will  not  get  despond- 
ent and  so  unhappy.  I  suppose  it  is  idle  to  say 
I  think  George's  chances  are  very  good  for  com- 
ing out  of  this  campaign  safe,  yet  at  present  it 
seems  to  me  so  —  but  it  is  indeed  idle  to  say  so, 
for  no  one  can  tell  what  a  day  may  bring  forth. 
Sometimes  I  think  that  should  it  come,  when  it 
must  be,  to  fall  in  battle,  one's  anguish  over  a 
son  or  brother  killed  would  be  tempered  with 
much  to  take  the  edge  off.  I  can  honestly  say  it 
has  no  terrors  for  me,  if  I  had  to  be  hit  in  battle, 

as  far  as  I  myself  am  concerned.     It  would  be  a 

183 


li 


# 


The  Wound  Dresser 


I     ! 


IM  ' 


■iii 


r  1 


noble  and  manly  death  and  in  the  best  cause. 
Then  one  finds,  as  I  have  the  past  year,  that  our 
feelings  and  imaginations  make  a  thousand  times 
too  much  of  the  whole  matter.  Of  the  many  I 
have  seen  die,  or  known  of,  the  past  year,  I  have 
not  seen  or  heard  of  one  who  met  death  with  any 
terror.  Yesterday  afternoon  I  spent  a  good  part 
of  the  afternoon  with  a  young  man  of  17,  named 
Charles  Cutter,  of  Lawrence  city,  Mass.,  ist 
Mass.  heavy  artillery,  battery  M.  He  was 
brought  in  to  one  of  the  hospitals  mortally 
wounded  in  abdomen.  Well,  I  thought  to  my- 
self as  I  sat  looking  at  him,  it  ought  to  be  a  relief 
to  his  folks  after  all,  if  they  could  see  how  little 
he  suffered.  He  lay  very  placid  in  a  half  lethargy 
with  his  eyes  closed.  It  was  very  warm,  and  I 
sat  a  long  while  fanning  him  and  wiping  the  sweat. 
At  length  he  opened  his  eyes  quite  wide  and 
clear  and  looked  inquiringly  around.  I  said, 
"  What  is  it,  my  dear  ?  do  you  want  anything  ?  " 
He  said  quietly,  with  a  good  natured  smile,  "  O 
nothing ;  I  was  only  looking  around  to  see  who 
was  with  me."  His  mind  was  somewhat  wander- 
ing, yet  he  lay  so  peaceful,  in  his  dying  condition. 
He  seemed  to  be  a  real  New  England  country  boy, 
so  good  natured,  with  a  pleasant  homely  way, 
and  quite  a  fine  looking  boy.  Without  any 
doubt  he  died  in  course  of  night. 

There  don't  seem  to  be  any  war  news  of  impor- 
tance very  late.  We  have  been  fearfully  disap- 
pointed with  Sigel  not  making  his  junction  from 

the  lower  part  of  the  valley,  and  perhaps  harassing 

184 


Letters  of  1864 

Lee's  left  or  left  rear,  which  the  junction  or  equiva- 
lent to  it  was  an  indispensable  part  of  Grant's 
plan,  we  think.  This  is  one  great  reason  why- 
things  have  lagged  so  with  the  Army.  Some  here 
are  furious  with  Sigel.  You  will  see  he  has  been 
superseded.  His  losses  [in]  his  repulse  are  not 
so  important,  though  annoying  enough,  but  it 
was  of  the  greatest  consequence  that  he  should 
have  hastened  through  the  gaps  ten  or  twelve 
days  ago  at  all  hazards  and  come  in  from  the 
west,  keeping  near  enough  to  our  right  to  have 
assistance  if  he  needed  it.  Jeff,  I  suppose  you 
know  that  there  has  been  quite  a  large  army  lying 
idle,  mostly  of  artillery  reg'ts,  manning  the  numer- 
ous forts  around  here.  They  have  been  the 
fattest  and  heartiest  reg'ts  anywhere  to  be  seen, 
and  full  in  numbers,  some  of  them  numbering 
2000  men.  Well,  they  have  all,  every  one,  been 
shoved  down  to  the  front.  Lately  we  have  had 
the  militia  reg'ts  pouring  in  here,  mostly  from 
Ohio.  They  look  first  rate.  I  saw  two  or  three 
come  in  yesterday,  splendid  American  young  men, 
from  farms  mostly.  We  are  to  have  them  for  a 
hundred  days  and  probably  they  will  not  refuse 
to  stay  another  hundred.  Jeff,  tell  mother  I  phall 
write  Wednesday  certain  (or  if  I  hear  anything  I 
will  write  to-morrow).  I  still  think  we  shall  get 
Richmond.     Walt. 

Jeff,  you  must  take  this  up  to  mother  as  soon 
as  you  go  home.  Jeff,  I  have  changed  my  quar- 
ters. I  moved  Saturday  last.  I  am  now  at  502 
Pennsylvania  av.,  near  3rd  st.     I  still  go  a  little 

185 


(» 


I 


Vi  i 

>1< 


i 


'il 
1,* 


4 , 


1 


The  Wound  Dresser 

almost  daily  to  Major  Hapgood's,  cor.  i  $th  and 
F  sts.,  5th  floor.  Am  apt  to  be  there  about 
12  or  I.  See  Fred  McReady  and  others  of 
51st.  George's  letter  to  me  of  i6th  I  sent  to 
Han.  Should  like  to  see  Mr.  Worther  if  he 
comes  here  —  give  my  best  remembrance  to  Mr. 
Lane. 

I  may  very  likely  go  down  for  a  few  days  to 
Ball  Plain  and  Fredericksburg,  but  one  is  wanted 
here  permanently  more  than  any  other  place.  I 
have  written  to  George  several  times  in  hopes  one 
at  least  may  reach  him.  Matty,  my  dear  sister, 
how  are  you  getting  along  ?  O  how  I  should 
like  to  see  you  this  very  day. 


XXIII 


il'    ! 


Washington^  May  ^5, 1864,  Dearest  Mother 
—  I  have  not  heard  anything  of  George  or  the 
reg*t  or  Corps  more  than  I  have  already  written. 
I  got  Jeff's  letter  on  Sunday  and  wrote  to  him 
next  day,  which  you  have  seen,  mother,  of  course. 
I  have  written  to  Han  and  sent  her  George's 
letter  to  me  dated  i6th.  I  have  heard  that  the 
9th  Corps  has  been  moved  to  the  extreme  left 
of  the  army.  I  should  think  by  accounts  this 
morning  that  the  army  must  be  nearly  halfway 
from  Fredericksburg  to  Richmond.  The  ad- 
vance can't  be  more  than  30  to  35  miles  from 

there.     I  see  Fred  McReady  about  every  other 

186 


;th  and 
about 
tiers  of 
sent  to 
r  if  he 
to  Mr. 

days  to 
wanted 
lace.  I 
)pes  one 
ir  sister, 
should 


OTHER 

or  the 

written. 

to  him 

course. 


reorge  s 
:hat  the 
jme  left 
Ints  this 

lalf  way 

'he  ad- 
les  from 

:y  other 


»_ 


Letters  of  1864 

day.  I  have  to  go  down  to  Alexandria,  about 
6  miles  from  here.  He  is  doing  quite  well,  but 
very  tired  of  the  confinement.  I  still  go  around 
daily  and  nightly  among  wounded.  Mother, 
it  is  just  the  same  old  story;  poor  suffering 
young  men,  great  swarms  of  them,  come  up  here 
now  every  day  all  battered  and  bloody  —  there 
have  4000  arrived  here  this  morning,  and  1500 
yesterday.  They  appear  to  be  bringing  them 
all  up  here  from  Fredericksburg.  The  journey 
from  the  field  till  they  get  aboard  the  boats  at 
Ball  plain  is  horrible.  I  believe  I  wrote  several 
times  about  Oscar  Cunningham,  82nd  Ohio,  am- 
putation of  right  leg,  wounded  over  a  year  ago,  a 
friend  of  mine  here.  He  is  rapidly  sinking ;  said 
to  me  yesterday,  O,  if  he  could  only  die.  The 
young  lad  Cutter,  of  ist  Massachusetts  heavy 
artillery,  I  was  with  Sunday  afternoon,  (I  wrote 
about  in  JeflF's  letter)  still  holds  out.  Poor  boy, 
there  is  no  chance  for  him  at  all. 

But  mother,  I  shall  make  you  gloomy  enough 
if  I  go  on  with  these  kind  of  particulars  —  only  I 
know  you  like  to  hear  about  the  poor  young 
men,  after  I  have  once  begun  to  mention  them. 
Mother,  I  have  changed  my  quarters  —  am  at 
502  Pennsylvania  av.,  near  3d  street,  only  a  little 
way  from  the  Capitol.  Where  I  was,  the  house 
was  sold  and  the  old  lady  I  hired  the  room  from 
had  to  move  out  and  give  the  owner  possession. 
I  like  my  new  quarters  pretty  well  —  I  have  a 
room  to  myself,  3d  story  hall  bedroom.  I  have 
my  meals  in  the  house.     Mother,  it  must  be  sad 

187 


W 


ff 


m 


<\ 


> 


1-5 


'  1.1 


'I 

I    I 


''\ 


The  Wound  Dresser 

enough  about  Nance  and  the  young  ones.  Is  the 
little  baby  still  hearty  ?  I  believe  you  wrote  a 
few  weeks  after  it  was  born  that  it  was  quite  a 
fine  child.  I  see  you  had  a  draft  in  the  jd  Con- 
gressional district.  I  was  glad  enough  to  see 
Jeff's  name  was  not  drawn.  We  have  had  it 
awful  hot  here,  but  there  was  a  sharp  storm  of 
thunder  and  lightning  last  night,  and  to-day  it  is 
fine.  Mother,  do  any  of  the  soldiers  I  see  here 
from  Brooklyn  or  New  York  ever  call  upon  you  ? 
They  sometimes  say  they  will  here.  Tell  JeflF  I 
got  a  letter  yesterday  from  W.  E.  Worthen,  in 
which  he  sent  me  some  money  for  the  men.  I 
have  acknowledged  it  to  Mr.  W.  by  letter.  Well, 
dear  mother,  I  must  close.  O,  how  I  want  to 
see  you  all  —  I  will  surely  have  to  come  home  as 
soon  as  this  Richmond  campaign  is  decided  — 
then  I  want  to  print  my  new  book.  Love  to 
Mat — write  to  a  fellow  often  as  you  can.   Walt. 


XXIV 


Washingtofiy  May  jo,  i86^.    Dearest  Mother 

—  I  have  no  news  at  all  to  write  this  time.    I  have 

not  heard  anything  of  the  51st  since  I  last  wrote 

you,  and  about  the  general  war  news  only  what 

you  see  in  the  papers.     Grant  is  gradually  getting 

nearer   and   nearer   to    Richmond.     Many   here 

anticipate  that  should  Grant  go  into  Richmond, 

188 


^s  the 
ote  a 
lite  a 
Con- 
o  see 
lad  it 
rm  of 
y  it  is 
;  here 

you? 
JefFI 
en,  in 
in.  I 
Well, 
ant  to 
)me  as 
ied  — 

ve  to 

ALT. 


)THER 

have 
Iwrote 
what 
jtting 
here 
lond. 


Letters  of  1864 

Lee  will  make  a  side  movement  and  march  up 
west  into  the  North,  either  to  attempt  to  strike 
Washington,  or  to  go  again  into  Pennsylvania. 
I  only  say  if  that  should  happen,  I  for  one  shall 
not  be  dissatisfied  so  very  much.  Well,  mother, 
how  are  you  getting  along  home  ?  —  how  do  you 
feel  in  health  these  days,  dear  mother?  I  hope 
you  are  well  and  in  good  heart  yet.  I  remain 
pretty  well :  my  head  begins  to  trouble  me  a  little 
with  a  sort  of  fullness,  as  it  often  does  in  the  hot 
weather.  Singular  to  relate,  the  ist  Mass.  artil- 
lery boy,  Charles  Cutter,  is  still  living,  and  may 
get  well.  I  saw  him  this  morning.  I  am  still 
around  among  wounded  same,  but  will  not  make 
you  feel  blue  by  filling  my  letter  with  sad  par- 
ticulars. 

I  am  writing  this  in  Willard's  hotel,  hurrying 
to  catch  this  afternoon's  mail.     Mother,  do  you 
get  your  letters  now  next  morning,  as  you  ought  ? 
I  got  a  letter  from  the  postmaster  of  Brooklyn 
about  it  —  said  if  the  letters  were  neglected  again, 
to  send  him  word.     I  have  not  heard  from  home 
now  in  some  days.     I  am  going  to  put  up  a  lot 
of  my  old  things  in  a  box  and  send  them  home 
by   express.     I    will    write    when   I   send   them. 
Have  you   heard  anything  from  Mary  or  Han 
lately?     I  should  like  to  hear.     Tell  Jeff  he  must 
write,  and  you  must,  too,  mother.     I  have  been 
in  one  of  the  worst  hospitals  all  the  forenoon,  it 
containing  about   1600.     I  have  given  the  men 
pipes  and  tobacco.     (I  am  the  only  one  that  gives 
them  tobacco.)     O  how  much  good  it  does  some 

189 


1 1 


,  V 


i 


m 


Vi 


.1.1)  ■ 

'.V 

'.I 


.M 


The  Wound   Dresser 

of  them  —  the  chaplains  and  most  of  the  doctors 
are  down  upon  it  —  but  I  give  them  and  let 
them  smoke.  To  others  I  have  given  oranges, 
fed  them,  etc.  Well,  dear  mother,  good-bye  — 
love  to  Matty  and  Sis.     Walt. 

Fred  McReady  is  coming  home  very  soon  on 
furlough  —  have  any  of  the  soldiers  called  on 
you  ? 


XXV 

Washington,  June  j,  1864.  Dearest  Mother 
—  Your  letter  came  yesterday.  I  have  not  heard 
the  least  thing  from  the  51st  since — no  doubt 
they  are  down  there  with  the  army  near  Rich- 
mond. I  have  not  written  to  George  lately.  I 
think  the  news  from  the  Army  is  very  good. 
Mother,  you  know  of  course  that  it  is  now  very 
near  Richmond  indeed,  from  five  to  ten  miles. 
Mother,  if  this  campaign  was  not  in  progress  I 
should  not  stop  here,  as  it  is  now  beginning  to  tell 
a  little  upon  me,  so  many  bad  wounds,  many  putre- 
fied, and  all  kinds  of  dreadful  ones,  I  have  been 
rather  too  much  with  —  but  as  it  is,  I  certainly 
remain  here  while  the  thing  remains  undecided. 
It  is  impossible  for  me  to  abstain  from  going  to 
see  and  minister  to  certain  cases,  and  that  draws 
me  into  others,  and  so  on.  I  have  just  left  Oscar 
Cunningham,  the  Ohio  boy  —  he  is  in  a  dying 
condition  —  there  is  no  hope  for  him  —  it  would 

draw  tears  from  the  hardest  heart  to  look  at  him 

190 


\. 


lectors 
id  let 
anges, 
bye  — 

ion  on 
led  on 


OTHER 

:  heard 
doubt 
Rich- 

ily.  I 
good. 

N  very 
miles. 

E;ress  I 
to  tell 
putre- 

e  been 

rtainly 
cided. 

)ing  to 
draws 
Oscar 
dying 
would 
at  him 


Letters  of  1864 

—  he  is  all  wasted  away  to  a  skeleton,  and  looks 
like  some  one  fifty  years  old.  You  remember  I 
told  you  a  year  ago,  when  he  was  first  brought  in, 
I  thought  him  the  noblest  specimen  of  a  young 
Western  man  I  had  seen,  a  real  giant  in  size,  and 
always  with  a  smile  on  his  face.  O  what  a  change. 
He  has  long  been  very  irritable  to  every  one  but 
me,  and  his  frame  is  all  wasted  away.  The  young 
Massachusetts  ist  artillery  boy.  Cutter,  I  wrote 
about  is  dead.  He  is  the  one  that  was  brought 
in  a  week  ago  last  Sunday  badly  wounded  in 
breast.  The  deaths  in  the  principal  hospital  I 
visit.  Armory-square,  average  one  an  hour. 

I  saw  Capt.  Baldwin  of  the  14th  this  morning; 
he  has  lost  his  lert  arm  —  is  going  home  soon. 
Mr.  Kalbfleisch  and  Anson  Herrick,  (M.  C.  from 
New  York)  came  in  one  of  the  wards  where  I  was 
sitting  writing  a  letter  this  morning,  in  the  midst 
of  the  wounded.  Kalbfleisch  was  so  much  aflfected 
by  the  sight  that  he  burst  into  tears.  O,  I  must  tell 
you,  I  [gave]  in  Carver  hospital  a  great  treat  of  ice 
cream,  a  couple  of  days  ago  —  went  round  myself 
through  about  15  large  wards  —  (I  bought  some 
ten  gallons,  very  nice).  You  would  have  cried 
and  been  amused  too.  Many  of  the  men  had  to 
be  fed ;  several  of  them  I  saw  cannot  probably 
live,  yet  they  quite  enjoyed  it.  I  gave  everybody 
some — quite  a  number  [of]  Western  country  boys 
had  never  tasted  ice  cream  before.  They  relish 
such  things  [as]  oranges,  lemons,  etc.  Mother,  I 
feel  a  little  blue  this  morning,  as  two  young  men 
I  knew  very  well  have  just  died.     One  died  last 

191 


• ;  i 


'!  (■ 


'):■■- 


1    (' ' 


t 


! 

1-   } 


' 

1 

1 

) 

• 

1 

\ 

i   ' 


I    t 


The  Wound   Dresser 

night,  and  the  other  about  half  an  hour  before  I  that! 

went  to  the  hospital.     I  did  not  anticipate  the  so  t| 

death  of  either  of  them.     Each  was  a  very,  very  hear! 

sad  case,  so  young.     Well  mother,  I  see  I  have  the 

written  you  another  gloomy  sort  of  letter.     I  do  to  it 

not  feel  as  first  rate  as  usual.     Walt.  thinl 

You  don't  know  how  I  want  to  come  home  is  tel 

and  see  you  all ;  you,  dear  mother,  and  Jeff  and  last 

Mat  and  all.     I  believe  I  am  homesick  —  some-  bad 

thing  new   for   me  —  then   I    have  seen    all  the  (quil 

horrors  of  soldiers*  life  and   not  been  kept  up  by  the 
its  excitement.     It  is  awful  to  see  so  much,  and 
not  be  able  to  relieve  it. 


■; 


7 


XXVI 

Washington,  June  7,  1864.  Dearest  Mother 
—  I  cannot  write  you  anything  about  the  51st,  as 
I  have  not  heard  a  word.  I  felt  very  much  dis- 
turbed yesterday  afternoon,  as  Major  Hapgood 
came  up  from  the  paymaster  general's  office,  and 
said  that  news  had  arrived  that  Burnside  was 
killed,  and  that  the  9th  Corps  had  had  a  terrible 
slaughter.  He  said  it  was  believed  at  the  pay- 
master general's  office.  Well,  I  went  out  to  see 
what  reliance  there  was  on  it.  The  rumor  soon 
spread  over  town,  and  was  believed  by  many  — 
but  as  near  as  I  can  make  it  out,  it  proves  to  be 
one    of  those    unaccountable    stories    that    get 

started  these   times.     Saturday   night  we   heard 

192 


•  before  I 
:ipate  the 
^ery,  very 
se  I  have 
en     I  do 

me  home 
JefF  and 
—  some- 
1  all  the 
jpt  up  by 
luch,  and 


Mother 
^  51st,  as 
uch  dis- 
lapgood 
fice,  and 
ide  was 
terrible 
:he  pay- 
t  to  see 
or  soon 
lany  — 
;s  to  be 
lat  get 
heard 


Letters  of  1864 

that  Grant  was  routed  completely,  etc.  etc. — 
so  that's  the  way  stories  fly.  I  suppose  you 
hear  the  same  big  lies  there  in  Brooklyn.  Well, 
the  truth  is  sad  enough,  without  adding  anything 
to  it  —  but  Grant  is  not  destroyed  yet,  but  I 
think  is  going  into  Richmond  yet,  but  the  cost 
is  terrible.  Mother,  I  have  not  felt  well  at  all  the 
last  week.  I  had  spells  of  deathly  faintness  and 
bad  trouble  in  my  head  too,  and  sore  throat 
(quite  a  little  budget,  ain't  they  ?)  My  head  was 
the  worst,  though  I  don't  know,  the  faint  spells 
were  not  very  pleasant  —  but  I  feel  so  much  better 
this  forenoon  I  believe  it  has  passed  over.  There 
is  a  very  horrible  collection  in  Armory  building, 
(in  Armory-square  hospital)  —  about  200  of  the 
worst  cases  you  ever  see,  and  I  had  been  prob- 
ably too  much  with  them.  It  is  enough  to 
melt  the  heart  of  a  stone ;  over  one  third  of  them 
are  amputation  cases.  Well,  mother,  poor 
Oscar  Cunningham  is  gone  at  last.  He  is  the 
82d  Ohio  boy  (wounded  May  3d,  '6^),  I  have 
written  so  much  of  him  I  suppose  you  feel  as  if 
you  almost  knew  him.  I  was  with  him  Satur- 
day forenoon  and  also  evening.  He  was  more 
composed  than  usual,  could  not  articulate  very 
well.  He  died  about  2  o'clock  Sunday  morning 
—  very  easy  they  told  me.  I  was  not  there. 
It  was  a  blessed  relief;  his  life  has  been  misery 
for  months.  The  cause  of  death  at  last  was  the 
system  absorbing  the  pus,  the  bad  matter,  instead 
of  discharging  it  from  [the]  wound.  I  believe  I 
told  you  I  was    quite  blue  from  the  deaths  of 

193 


'I 

I"' 


»^ 


8H 


'»■ 


U  ) 


The  Wound   Dresser 

several  of  the  poor  young  men  I  knew  well, 
especially  two  I  had  strong  hopes  of  their  getting 
up.  Things  are  going  pretty  badly  with  the 
wounded.  They  are  crowded  here  in  Washing- 
ton in  immense  numbers,  and  all  those  that  come 
up  from  the  Wilderness  and  that  region,  arrived 
here  so  neglected,  and  in  such  plight,  it  was 
awful  —  (those  that  were  at  Fredericksburg  and 
also  from  Ball  Plain).  The  papers  are  mil  of 
puffs,  etc.,  but  the  truth  is,  the  largest  proportion 
of  worst  cases  got  little  or  no  attention.  We 
receive  them  here  with  their  wounds  full  of 
worms  —  some  all  swelled  and  inflamed.  Many 
of  the  amputations  have  to  be  done  over  again. 
One  new  feature  is  that  many  of  the  poor 
afflicted  young  men  are  crazy.  Every  ward  has 
some  in  it  that  are  wandering.  They  have 
suffered  too  much,  and  it  is  perhaps  a  privilege 
that  they  are  out  of  their  senses.  Mother,  it  is 
most  too  much  for  a  fellow,  and  I  sometimes  wish 
I  was  out  of  it — but  I  suppose  it  is  because  I 
have  not  felt  first  rate  myself.  I  am  going  to 
write  to  George  to-day,  as  I  see  there  is  a  daily 
mail  to  White  House.  O,  I  must  tell  you  that 
we  get  the  wounded  from  our  present  field  near 
Richmond  much  better  than  we  did  from  the 
Wilderness  and  Fredericksburg.  We  get  them 
now  from  White  House.  They  are  put  on  boats 
there,  and  come  all  the  way  here,  about  i6o  or 
170  miles.  White  House  is  only  twelve  or 
fifteen  miles  from  the  field,  and  is  our  present 

depot  and  base  of  supplies.     It  is  very  pleasant 

194 


i 


''L. 


Letters  of  1864 


1  well, 
getting 
th   the 
ishing- 
t  come 
arrived 
it  was 
rg  and 
£11  of 
portion 
I.     We 
full   of 
Many 
•  again, 
e    poor 
ard  has 
f    have 
rivilege 
er,  it  is 
es  wish 
ause   I 
ing  to 
la  daily 
u  that 
d  near 
m  the 
them 
boats 
160  or 
live   or 
resent 
easant 


\'- 


: 


here  to-day,  a  little  cooler  than  it  has  been  — 
a  good  rain  shower  last  evening.  The  Western 
reg'ts  continue  to  pour  in  here,  the  loo  days 
men;  —  may  go  down  to  front  to  guard  posts, 
trains,  etc. 

Well,  mother,  how  do  things  go  on  with  you 
all  ?  It  seems  to  me  if  I  could  only  be  home 
two  or  three  days,  and  have  some  good  teas  with 
you  and  Mat,  and  set  in  the  old  basement  a 
while,  and  have  a  good  time  and  talk  with  Jeff, 
and  see  the  little  girls,  etc.,  I  should  be  willing  to 
keep  on  afterward  among  these  sad  scenes  for  the 
rest  of  the  summer — but  I  shall  remain  here 
until  this  Richmond  campaign  is  settled,  anyhow, 
unless  I  get  sick,  and  I  don't  anticipate  that. 
Mother  dear,  I  hope  you  are  well  and  in  fair 
spirits  —  you  must  try  to.  Have  you  heard  from 
sister  Han  ?    Walt. 

You  know  I  am  living  at  502  Pennsylvania 
av.  (near  3d  st.)  —  it  is  not  a  very  good  place. 
I  don't  like  it  so  well  as  I  did  cooking  my  own 
g  ub  —  and  the  air  is  not  good.  Jeff,  you  must 
write. 


XXVII 

Washington,  June  10, 1864,    Dearest  Mother 
—  I  got  your  letter  dated  last  Wednesday.     I  do 

not    always   depend    on 's    accounts.      I 

think  he  is  apt  to  make  things  full  as  bad  as  they 
are,  if  not  worse. 

195 


i  ^ 


I 

r 


The  Wound   Dresser 

Mother,  I  was  so  glad  to  get  a  letter  from  JefF 
this  morning,  enclosmg  one  from  George  dated 
June  1st.  It  was  so  good  to  see  his  handwriting 
once  more.  I  have  not  heard  anything  of  the 
reg't  —  there  are  all  sorts  of  rumors  here,  among 
others  that  Burnside  does  not  give  satisfaction  to 
Grant  and  Meade,  and  that  it  is  expected  some 
one  else  will  be  placed  in  command  of  9th  Corps. 
Another  rumor  more  likely  is  that  our  base  of 
the  army  is  to  be  changed  to  Harrison's  Landing 
on  James  river  instead  of  White  House  on 
Pamunkey. 

Mother,  I  have  not  felt  well  again  the  last  two 
days  as  I  was  Tuesday,  but  I  feel  a  good  deal 
better  this  morning.  I  go  round,  but  most  of  the 
time  feel  very  little  like  it.  The  doctor  tells  me 
I  have  continued  too  long  in  the  hospitals, 
especially  in  a  bad  place.  Armory  building,  where 
the  worst  wounds  were,  and  have  absorbed  too 
much  of  the  virus 'in  my  system  —  but  I  know  it 
is  nothing  but  what  a  little  relief  and  sustenance  of 
[the]  right  sort  will  set  right.  I  am  writing  this  in 
Major  Hapgood's  office.  He  is  very  busy  paying 
off  some  men  whose  time  is  out ;  they  are  going 
home  to  New  York.  I  wrote  to  George  yester- 
day o  We  are  having  very  pleasant  weather  here 
just  now.  Mother,  you  did  n't  mention  whether 
Mary  had  come,  so  I  suppose  she  has  not.  I 
should  like  to  see  her  and  Ansel  too.  The 
wounded  still  come  here  in  large  numbers  —  day 
and  night  trains  of  ambulances.    Tell  JefF  the  J 10 

from  Mr.  Lane  for  the  soldiers  came  safe.    I  shall 

196 


I 


t  I 


n  Jeff 
dated 
/riting 
of  the 
imong 
ion  to 
some 
Z!orps. 
ase  of 
inding 
se   on 

St  two 

1  deal 

of  the 

lis  me 

ipitals, 

where 

;d  too 

low  it 

nee  of 

his  in 

laying 

Igoing 

ester- 

here 

lether 

t.     I 

The 

day 

|e  Jio 

shall 


( 


w 


Letters  of  1864 

write  to  Jeff  right  away.  I  send  my  love  to  Mat 
and  all.  Mother,  you  must  try  to  keep  good 
heart.     Walt. 


XXVIU 

Washington^  June  A/,  1S64,  Dear  est  Mother. 
I  am  not  feeling  very  well  these  days  —  the 
doctors  have  told  me  not  to  come  inside  the 
hospitals  for  the  present.  I  send  there  by  a 
friend  every  day ;  1  send  things  and  aid  to  some 
cases  I  know,  and  hear  from  there  also,  but  I 
do  not  go  myself  at  present.  It  is  probable  that 
the  hospital  poison  has  aftected  my  system,  and 
I  find  it  worse  than  I  calculated.  I  have  spells 
of  faintness  and  very  bad  feeling  in  my  head, 
fullness  and  pain  —  and  besides  sore  throat. 
My  boarding  place,  502  Pennsylvania  av.,  is  a 
miserable  place,  very  bad  air.  But  I  shall  feel 
better  soon,  I  know  —  the  doctors  say  it  will  pass 
over — they  have  long  told  me  I  was  going  in 
too  strong.  Some  days  I  think  it  has  all  gone 
and  I  feel  well  again,  but  in  a  few  hours  I  have 
a  spell  again.  Mother,  I  have  not  heard  any- 
thing of  the  51st.  I  sent  George's  letter  to  Han. 
I  have  written  to  George  since.  I  shall  write 
again  to  him  in  a  day  or  two.  If  Mary  comes 
home,  tell  her  I  sent  her  my  love.  If  I  don't 
feel  better  before  the  end  of  this  week  or  begin- 
ning of  next,  I  may  come  home  for  a  week  or 

197 


\ii 


w 


!i 


N 


Ii  '.. 


The  Wound   Dresser 

fortnight  for  a  change.  The  rumor  is  very  strong 
here  that  Grant  is  over  the  James  river  on  south 
side — but  it  is  not  in  the  papers.  We  are  hav- 
ing quite  cool  weather  here.  Mother,  I  want  to 
see  you  and  Jeff  so  much.  I  have  been  working 
a  little  at  copying,  but  have  stopt  it  lately.     Walt. 


i 


% 


\  tl 


I 


\\ 


XXIX 

Washington^  June  ly,  1864.  Dearest  Mother. 
I  got  your  letter  this  morning.  This  placQ  and 
the  hospitals  seem  to  have  got  the  better  of  me. 
I  do  not  feel  so  badly  this  forenoon  —  but  I  have 
bad  nights  and  bad  days  too.  Some  of  the  spells 
are  pretty  bad  —  still  I  am  up  some  and  around 
every  day.  The  doctors  have  told  me  for  a 
fortnight  I  must  leave ;  that  I  need  an  entire 
change  of  air,  etc. 

I  think  I  shall  come  home  for  a  short  time, 
and  pretty  soon.  (I  will  try  it  two  or  three  days 
yet  though,  and  if  I  find  my  illness  goes  over 
I  will  stay  here  yet  awhile.  All  I  think  about 
is  to  be  here  if  any  thing  should  happen  to 
George). 

We  don't  hear  anything  more  of  the  army  than 
you  do  there  in  the  papers.     Walt. 

Mother,  if  I  should  come  I  will  write  a  day  or 
so  before. 


EiVd 


198 


strong 
.  south 
e  hav- 
/ant  to 
'orking 
Walt, 


OTHER. 

,CQ  and 
of  me. 
I  have 
e  spells 
around 
for  a 
entire 

time, 
e  days 
IS  over 

about 
en    to 

than 

lay  or 


I 


Letters  of  1864 

The  letter  of  June  //,  1864,  is  the  last  of  Whit- 
mari'Sy  written  from  Washington  at  or  about  this 
time,  that  has  been  preserved  and  come  down  to  us. 
Many,  probably  many  more  than  have  been  kept^ 
have  been  lost ;  indeed,  it  is  a  wonder  that  so  many 
were  saved,  for  they  were  sent  about  from  one  mem- 
ber of  the  family  to  another,  and  when  once  read 
seem  to  have  been  little  valued.  The  reader  will 
have  noticed  a  certain  change  of  tone  in  the  later 
letters,  showing  that  Whitman  was  beginning  to 
feel  the  inroads  which  the  fatigues,  the  unhealthy 
surroundings  of  the  hospitals,  and  especially  the 
mental  anxiety  and  distress  inseparable  from  his 
work  there,  were  making  upon  even  his  superb 
health,  Down  to  the  time  of  his  hospital  work  he 
had  never  known  a  days  sickness,  but  thereafter 
he  never  again  knew,  except  at  intervals  which 
grew  shorter  and  less  frequent  as  time  went  on,  the 
buoyant  vigor  and  vitality  of  his  first  forty-four 
years.  From  1864  to  the  end  of  18^2  the  attacks 
described  in  his  "  Calamus  "  letters  became  from  year 
to  year  more  frequent  and  more  severe,  until,  in 
January,  18 yj,  th^y  culminated  in  an  attack  of 
paralysis  which  never  left  him  and  from  the  indirect 
effects  of  which  he  died  in  18 g2. 

But  for  years,  though  often  warned  and  sent 
away  by  the  doctors,  during  his  better  intervals  and 
until  his  splendid  health  was  quite  broken  by  hos- 
pital malaria  and  the  poison  absorbed  from  gangre- 
nous wounds,  he  continued  his  ministrations  to  the 
sick  and  the  maimed  of  the  war.  Those  who  joined 
the  ranks  and  fought  the  battles  of  the  Republic  did 

199 


•J; 


^i' 


' 


i! 


1 


The  Wound  Dresser 

well ;  but  when  the  world  knows y  as  it  is  beginning 
to  know,  how  this  many  without  any  encouragement 
from  withouty  under  no  compulsion,  simply,  without 
beat  of  drum  or  any  cheers  of  approval,  went  down 
into  those  immense  lazar  houses  and  devoted  his  days 
and  nightSy  his  heart  and  souly  and  at  last  his  health 
and  lifcy  to  Americans  sick  and  wounded  sons,  it  will 
say  that  he  did  even  better. 

R.  M.  B. 


( 


' 


200 


r  '5 


beginning 
iragement 
,  without 
ent  down 
^  his  days 
lis  health 
Sy  it  will 


^^  ai  thy  portals  also  death, 

Entermg  thy  sovereign,  dim,  illimitable  grounds 

10  memories  of  my  mother  tn  th.  /  •      ff ', 

maternity  ^  '  ''  '^'  ^^^^^^  ^^^«^«<?> 

"^^  %tt;''^  ''""'^  '''  ^-^'^^  -^'  zone  not 

I  sit  by  the  form  in  the  coffin, 

""^f  ^'1'  ^/«^«  Wjv  again  the  sweet  old  lips 
Tn  I,       1  '^'fH'  '^'  '^'''^  'y'  ^«  the  coffin ;)  ^' 

'  fl  'if  ."^om^^^  practical,  spiritual,  of  all 
of  earth,  life,  love,  to  me  the  best, 
I  grave  a  monumental  line,  before  I  go,  amid  these 

And  set  a  tombstone  here. 


if 


I    1 


I     I 


201 


:i, ,  ! 


l\M 


> 


Printed  by  John  mison  and  Son,  at  the  Univer 
"''  ^'■"''  '^''"''■'^Se,  V.S.A.,  in  December,  rl^.' 


